Prime Real Estate
by scousemuz1k
Summary: A huge web of corruption emerges as Tony, Tim and the team, along with Lieutenant Kath Wigg's team from Metro, investigate what starts as one small case. Some OCs from other stories - I love to recycle.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Work in progress… risky to begin when I've not quite worked everything out… but the eternal procrastinator thought it would be better to start, then my conscience would make me finish. **

**Will involve many of my OCs from other stories… just to see if I can do it!**

Prime Real Estate

by scousemuz1k

"Can't believe we got out while the sun's still shining," Tim said cheerfully, looking round for a table outside the coffee bar.

"Well, either Gibbs has got a hot date, or he agrees that we've all worked hard enough," Tony replied just as cheerfully. "Cuz we have."

"It's no fun living out of your overnight bag," the younger agent went on with feeling. "But I really feel in need of a shot of caffeine before I try to drive home."

"And the Gremlin's wedding may be months away, but we ought to start thinking now."

"Oh yeah… but it depends what you're thinking about, Tony," Tim said warily. "He –"

"Don't worry, McConscience... I'm getting too old for fratty pranks." He sighed. "After this week I _feel_ too old. Way too old. Anyway, Jimmy's a friend." Tim gave him a look that said 'When's that ever stopped you?', and he grinned easily back. He spotted a table and started towards it, but Tim called him back.

"Tony… wait a minute…" There was something urgent in the other man's tone, and he turned back to him. Tim's eyes were on a figure hunched at the table furthest into the corner. "Look, d'you mind if Jimmy's plans wait for another day?"

"No… course not, but what…" He looked more closely at the man at the end table. "Oh – Ollie Lasz, isn't it? He doesn't look too good."

"No… I don't think he is." Tim started towards him. Something in his tone worried Tony.

"Jinny? Are things worse?"

Tim winced at the question, feeling a bit guilty. He'd got on well with the young police officer from Kath Wigg's team when they'd worked together on the Frandsen case, and had kept in touch with him in an understated way since the incident that had caused such pain in his life, knowing that he'd need all the support he could get.

"I don't know… I've not spoken to him in a week… we've been so busy…"

He recalled the day, six months ago, that Ollie had told him Jeanette Cadogan had left the team.

"_But you need a computer expert, Ol…every team does these days!"_

_Ollie had grinned. "Sure… and we won't lose her services, we just have to share her with Craig Hyams' team now. The important thing is she won't be coming into the field with __**us**__ any more."_

"_But why –" The light-bulb snapped on above his head. "You and Jeanette…"_

"_That's __**right.**__" Ollie laughed. "We'd been sneaking around… soon as we realised this was serious, we told Kath. It wouldn't have been fair not to. We all sat down and figured out what to do for the team's sake, and it worked out fine. I er… I asked her to marry me yesterday. She said yes."_

Tim had been delighted for his friend, and promised to attend the wedding. It was only three weeks later that he'd heard the dreadful news. Ollie had been raging down the phone_. _

"_I should have been with her. I should have protected her… I should never have let her leave the team…" _

Jeanette's car had been rammed during a chase, and sandwiched between a wall and the big four-by-four that had taken her out. She was alive but critical, her legs shattered and perhaps beyond repair; even if they saved them, the doctor told him, she' be in for a world of pain… maybe best to – Ollie had almost screamed his refusal at them.

"_That's a decision for her. You damn well fight for her, and don't write her off, you don't __**know**__ her…"_

So, she'd kept her mangled legs, and told Ollie he was right as soon as she was conscious enough to speak, but the doctor had been right too. Her fiancé had stayed beside her through nights of agony, smothering down his own pain at seeing hers, suffering every inch of the way with her, while Kath and Roy Fordham had carried on without them, implacably, until they got the men responsible..

"_You won't want me now I'm like this."_

That had come from left field, in the middle of one long vigil, and taken his breath away. Tim remembered how close to tears the other man had been when he told him.

"_I'll prove you're wrong on that, Hon."_

The result had been that the two cops had married in the hospital chapel, as soon as Jeanette was well enough to sit in a wheelchair, just so that Ollie could _show_ her how wrong she was.

"_We'll have a big church blessing, with all our friends and relations, as soon as you're ready to walk down the aisle," _he'd told her_, "and you __**will**__ be."_

Tim had been happy when he'd heard that Jinny was out of hospital, and making good progress, but was regretting now that he'd given the couple space. Ollie looked as if he could use a friend.

He looked up as the two agents approached. "Tim… DiNozzo, hi."

The SFA went for humour as best he could. "Tony," he said, "I sure as hell don't want to go round calling you Lash." It was the way he'd heard the Polish surname pronounced, and suspected it was the best approximation to be had, much like DiNoezo.

The corners of the detective's mouth turned up, but it was an effort. "Tony," he said agreeably, waving a hand, inviting them to sit. "So… what brings you guys down here in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Time off for good behaviour," Tim told him. "We've worked six days non-stop." He hesitated, then added tentatively, "You?"

Ollie Lasz sighed. "Killing time," he said. "I took Jinny for her physio… she doesn't like me to stay. She doesn't like me to watch while they hurt her."

The two agents nodded their understanding, and simply waited, watching seriously. It was all it took.

"She _is_ getting better," Ollie said intensely. "She just doesn't think she is. I say things to her like, 'But remember this time last week, you couldn't even bend your knees without crying. It's not hurting you quite so much,' and she just counters it with 'How the hell do you know? They're not your knees.' The physios want her to wear callipers and try standing up, and she won't have any of it. I don't blame her… if she doesn't feel ready… she may not believe me but I'm ready to give it all the time it takes and never push, but she just says that she'll never walk again, that she'll never be out of the chair, and that's not true. Or… it doesn't have to be."

"Is that you or the doctors talking?" Tim asked as gently as he could. Oliver bristled for a moment, but realised the question wasn't sarcastic. He slapped himself inside… McGee wouldn't be like that.

"The doctors, actually," he said, calming down, and waited until the waitress had taken the two agents' orders. Tony dealt with that so that Tim could watch his friend, ordering the cop another latte since the one he had looked cold, played with and unpalatable. When she'd gone, Ollie went on. "The original guy was wrong… well, he was right about the pain, but about how to repair it… he didn't know enough. If it had been left to him…" he shuddered. "Kath went marching to the Chief himself, and demanded that he brought in the best there was, and he didn't hesitate."

"That's the Kath we know and love," Tony murmured approvingly.

Ollie grinned briefly. "Sure is. This guy from New York came down, looked at everything, told Jinny exactly what he was going to do, and said that at the end of it, she'd have two working legs, strong enough to walk on. She had two surgeries on her left leg, and three on the right, which was the worst hurt. The pieces of bone were screwed to a steel bar on the outside of her leg, and the screws were adjusted regularly to keep the bone healing in a straight line. I don't know how the poor kid bore it. It was hideous just to _look_ at!"

The two agents sat holding their breath. Nothing would have persuaded them to interrupt.

"Ten days ago, the screws were removed, and I know that was one of the best days I can ever remember. You could _see _the pain levels coming down… even Jinny was looking on the bright side. But… it didn't go away completely… I mean, we couldn't expect that it _would_ – and then the physiotherapy started, and that was a new kind of hell. It's all just knocked her confidence sideways…"

The waitress came back with their order, and would have flirted with two of her favourite regulars, but she could see that this time, it wasn't a good idea. She smiled sympathetically, and hurried away.

Ollie poured sugar into his latte and fiddled with the spoon. "You know what's worst?"

They shook their heads. "Tell us," Tim encouraged him.

The young cop put his elbows on the table and clenched his hands together. "It's not the fact that she yells at me all the time, then cries because she's treating me badly. I told her I'm here for life and she can do whatever she needs to get better. But it's taken the lovely girl I knew and ripped her apart… The IT practical joker, the girl who could pick out the one salient fact from a six foot high pile of technological bum-fodder… the girl who was brave enough to go undercover at the drop of a flak vest… who laughed and giggled and was never at a loss for the right thing to do or say… she was the whole team's go-to girl if we had problems… she was warm, and sunny, and vital… I still love her, I always will, and I can wait as long as it takes – but will I ever get my _real_ Jinny back?"

He sat up with a jerk, and his coffee went flying. Tony and Tim grabbed hastily for napkins, and mopped away until the waitress came over to do it properly. Ollie sat watching helplessly, unable to stir himself to help, apologising vaguely until it was all cleared. There was an awkward silence, until the two agents both spoke at once.

"There must be –" from Tony.

"Is there anything we can do?" from Tim.

The waitress brought another latte, and walked away with a wink before anyone could put a hand in a pocket. It covered up Ollie's hesitation.

"Well… actually… there is."

Which was how Tim found himself a passenger in Oliver Lasz's car the next morning, heading out towards Harper's Ferry, while Tony stood uncertainly outside Ollie's small house in Alexandria, watching them disappear.

"So, tell me more about this place we're heading to," Tim said curiously.

"Well, it's like I said, I think Jeanette would feel a bit better if she had something to do. This is just the latest in a long line of ideas I've had, all of which she's resisted. Which is why she wouldn't come. The company we're heading for makes one-off, made-to measure furniture for disabled people. Jinny says that I'm labelling her as disabled by buying her a wheelchair-friendly desk, and I can't argue back that _she's_ the one who thinks she'll never get out of the contraption."

"Ouch," Tim said. "I don't suppose you can. Must hurt though."

"I'll be her target any time if it'll help," Ollie told him. "I'll get through to her in the end, Tim." He spoke with such conviction his friend couldn't help but believe him, and admire him.

"So… you need me to sit at the desk…"

"You know your way round computers; you know what Jinny's got cuz I've told you… I want you to sit in this old wheelchair they've got there, and visualise the stuff set out on this desk I've ordered, to see if it's going to work – cuz you can bet your cordless mouse that she'll try to find things wrong with it." He sighed. "It's just the way she is right now…"

"Mmm… I can think of a few more tempting bits of kit she might like in her home office… I can imagine them in place too if you like… I could get them, set the whole thing up for her…"

"Aah… you're a pal, Mr. McGee."

They were still talking round the situation when their destination came in sight. Tim thought it was a curious sight; a building that had clearly begun as one small structure, and had another bit added, and another, and yet another, and not one of them related to the others in size or design. Visually, it was a mess, and just to highlight its incongruity, it stood on a low hill, easily visible above the completely flat land all around it. The road to it was raised on an embankment across the flat land, and Tim couldn't see the reason for that until he realised that the hill had once been an island. He recalled passing what looked like a pumping station a few miles back, and concluded that they were on a causeway that had once crossed a marsh.

Ollie smiled. Tim really did have this 'Eureka!' expression ; it came, he supposed, of having an open, honest face. Well, cops encountered too many closed, furtive or deceitful faces, he thought, so appreciate it.

"Figured it out, then?" he asked. Tim nodded, and they got out of the car. They stood looking round as he went on, "Yep, this used to be a swamp… the land was drained as part of a scheme to carry ground water away from the industrial area a couple of miles north… turns out they then found they had prime real estate type land. Or would have, but for this little wart right in the middle."

There was something about Ollie's tone that raised Tim's eyebrows, and he shot a look at his friend. "I'll tell you later," the cop said, "If Caroline doesn't tell you first." They went inside.

The small reception area had one desk, with a young woman working there. Her badge said her name was Emma. She looked up.

"Hello, Mr. Lasz," she said, and rose to meet them. "Caroline's expecting you." A middle-aged man came out of a side door at that moment, carrying a tray full of folders, and Emma called to him. "Sandy, will you take Mr. Lasz to Caroline please? She's in the break room."

The man stopped and looked at them, flashed a shy smile then averted his eyes and twisted his head away. "Kay…" he said in a soft mumble, and Ollie followed him without hesitation. They came to another door, and Sandy pointed at it. Twisting his head away again he said "There…", and went on his way.

Ollie said softly, with his hand on the doorknob, "Out of the staff of thirty, half are disabled in some way, and Caroline protects them like a tigress." He pushed the door open.

Caroline Yorke stood at the coffee machine. "Hello, Ollie," she said, and gestured with the glass jug in her hand "My third this morning… d'you think I'm an addict? Would you like some? And your friend? You must be Tim…"

She was around fifty, of below average height, and wore four inch high black patent pumps to compensate. Her platinum blonde hair was swept up into a neat chignon on her crown, and her trim figure spoke of very good luck or iron self-control. A grey Bluesuits two-piece and a crisp white blouse completed the ensemble; she was the epitome of power-dressed business woman – which was her intention. She shook hands with both men, poured their coffee, and gestured, this time with her mug, at a tv monitor hanging from the ceiling in the corner. The view was of the causeway.

"It's a good job I recognised you, Ollie," she said, wryly. "Did you know bloody Ackerman drives a Tahoe too? Grey… black… I'm not sure… but like yours. I was about ready to fetch the shotgun."

"He's been back has he?"

"Not this week… I figured I was about due to be honoured by his presence again. After a digger over near the ferry 'accidentally' severed our power cable… we were ready for it – we ran on the generators until they repaired it."

By now Tim could see there was a story to tell, and was bursting with curiosity. Caroline looked at him. "Ollie's not told you about us, then? Come, first things first. Let's show you this desk, then if you're interested we'll tell you the whole tale."

Back in Alexandria, Tony had watched the rear end of the car growing smaller, with great trepidation. He shook himself; he'd volunteered to do this after all. "The front door's not locked," Ollie had told him, and he took a deep breath and pushed it open.

He called out Jinny's name to let her know he was here, and heard her call back, "In here." He followed the voice into the living room, and found her sitting in a tall wing chair, the sort favoured by people with bad backs who found them easier to get up from, by the window.

He tried not to seem as if he were looking her over, but good as he knew he was at dissembling, he doubted he was concealing things too well right now. Jeanette Lasz's skin was drawn tightly over her cheekbones, her eyes sunken into her head. She was as thin as a coat rail, and the lines of pain were deeply set into her face. Her hands were folded primly in her lap, and she endured his attempts not to stare with stoicism.

"You took your sweet time plucking up the courage to come in," she said bluntly. "Er… I mean, hello, DiNozzo… so you're my babysitter then?"

**AN: Not much action yet, but it'll come…**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: A couple of things – I usually research actual drugs when I write about them, but I don't want to be sued, so these are made up ones. I don't know what terminology is used for USA planning regulations so I've used English ones. I don't own NCIS, or profit from it in any way, but would like to thank those who do for letting Tony grow up, and MW for insisting on it. Oh, that's three things.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 2

"_You took your sweet time plucking up the courage to come in," she said bluntly. "Er… I mean, hello, DiNozzo, so you're my babysitter, then?"_

Her drawn face was flat, her eyes mean; there wasn't even a hint of amusement in her tone.

Tony crossed the room, and stood looking down at her with his head on one side. After making a great show of thinking about it, he said, "You don't _look_ like a baby."

Jeanette glared and bristled. "But you think I'm acting like one?"

Not wanting to loom over her, but not wanting her to think he was humouring her, the tall agent sat down on the window ledge. He regarded her with the same quizzical expression. "I only know one baby," he said innocently, "and she always smiles when she sees me."

"I don't feel like smiling," Jinny said petulantly. "I don't want company. I don't want a nursemaid. I _told_ Ollie –"

"I was a babysitter a minute ago," Tony pointed out.

"Whatever! I told Ollie I was fine by myself. He knew better of course –"

"Of course. What happens if you need the bathroom… or a coffee… or the phone rings?" He gestured at her wheelchair, that stood maybe six feet from the one she sat in, seemingly just out of reach. He wondered if she'd kicked it away, which would have hurt her, which would have made her even madder, then saw the rubber scuff mark on the wall at the level of the foot-rest and knew he was right.

He thought of the happy, brainy girl who could never quite conceal the delight she felt when she pulled up that one salient fact that her husband had mentioned. He'd seen the same thing in McGee, the pleasure and the attempt to hide it; it had always made him smile inside. He, of course, never made any attempt to hide it when he'd done something smart. Hell, the only thing that'd shut him up was a Gibbs-slap, which was probably why he did it… forget the probably.

Gibbs-slaps… he knew how he was going to play this. He went on blithely, "No, you'd ignore the phone of course, unless you felt like yelling. What if it was Kath? D'you know, I believe you'd yell at _her_ right now. What would you have done? Fallen out of that chair and dragged yourself to your wheels? Or to the phone? You were considering it, weren't you. You'd have hurt yourself more. Very sensible. You _sure_ you don't need a nursemaid?"

Jeanette jerked forward in her tall chair, eyes furious. "You just going to sit there and make fun of me, DiNozzo? When I can't fight back?"

He grinned in the most infuriating way he could, and Tony DiNozzo was a _very_ good actor. "Oh, you can still fight, Jinny. Tell you what," he goaded, "Let's make the playing field more even. I'll lift you back into your chair, then you can run me down."

"Bastard! You just make a joke of everything! You're a clown, that's all you are, an empty-headed clown. How are you ever a Fed?"

The clown emerged less frequently these days, and only when he was needed, and anyway, he was trying to make her mad, so her words slid off him like water off the proverbial duck. She realised it, lost it, remembered 'Renato', and went for the throat.

"D'you put on an act all the time because there's nothing underneath? Mr. Hollow Man?"

"Wow… a movie reference… Josh Brolin, 2000… Nice one, Jinny –"

"Damn you, you heartless –" She looked at him, really looked, for the first time, hoping to see some reaction, and realised with a strange knotting of her stomach that the pain she was ashamed and pleased to see in his eyes was _for_ her, not _at_ her words.

She slumped back against the wing of her chair. "What are you _doing_, DiNozzo?"

He slid from the window ledge and onto his knees in front of her chair. "Digging," he said softly. "Looking for someone. Looking for Jinny."

She leaned forwards again, and covered her face with her hands; when she drew them slowly down again, her expression was anguished. "She's gone… she'll never come back…"

"Ollie's certain she will."

"I know! That's why he married me," she said desperately.

"No… he married you because he loves you."

"Yes… no… I mean – he married me when he did because he thought I'd get better. But what if I don't? What if he finds I can't? If he realises he's never going to get a whole wife again… what then?"

"Life's full of what ifs," Tony said wryly. He stood up with a grunt which he hoped she wouldn't realise was manufactured. "Can't stay down there for long," he told her. He leaned in. "Cm'ere… put your arm round my neck and hang on." Ever quick on the uptake, she realised what he was doing, and didn't object, as he slid an arm under her shoulders, and the other, carefully, under her knees. All the time he was waiting for a moan, or a flinch, that would tell him he was hurting her, but there was none. He carried her over to the big sofa which took up most of the rest of the room, and lowered her down carefully, noting how she moved her legs, with a bit of a frown but without help, into a comfortable position. He passed her a pile of squishy cushions, and waited while she arranged them, thankful to see she still didn't need his help.

He regarded her thoughtfully. He knew she suffered a lot of pain, but clearly wasn't too bad right now, so she must be on pretty good painkillers. He wondered if they suppressed her appetite. "Would you like anything to eat, or drink?"

"You don't have to be my nur – to look after me," she protested feebly.

"I'm quite good at it. _Do_ you?"

"OK… tea?"

When they were settled with a couple of steaming mugs, (he also found some tempting looking shortbreads and put them on a plate enticingly near her elbow,) Jeanette comfortable on the sofa, Tony perched close by on a large leather foot-stool, he took a deep breath.

"Go on…" Jinny said resignedly, "I'm behaving like a brat. I get worked up and I don't know how to stop myself."

"You're behaving…" Tony said slowly, "like someone whose life's been turned upside down, with a side order of terrible pain, who's feeling insecure about the future..."

"And who's behaving like a brat about it…"

Tony rocked back on the leather stool until it squeaked in protest, and Jinny actually giggled. "Ollie does that," she said. "He makes it fart."

"You know he loves you, no matter what, right?"

"I believe what he says… but what if –"

"I should settle for just believing him. Next wise thought of DiNozzo… If there hadn't been an improvement… if you weren't getting better, d'you think the head shebang from New York would have let you out of hospital, or taken that contraption off your leg?"

"No… Tony I know that's true… Ollie says it too, and I know it's true, but…" Jinny came to a halt in despair.

"You're fine now," Tony pointed out gently.

"It'll start again as soon as I've got nothing else to think about, or I get a pain."

"Mmm… you 'get worked up' – your words – and it all takes off again. Have you thought of talking –"

"To a shrink? They tried to get me to speak to a counsellor in the hospital, but I didn't have the energy or the patience." She sighed and shuddered, and tried to repress a yawn. "I still get so damn tired."

Tony pointed to the red plush snuggle-rug that was folded neatly over the end of the sofa. "Do you want to take a nap? It looks like you do sometimes."

"Would you mind?" Tony grinned and shook his head. "Well then…"

He helped her to swing her legs up onto the couch, and covered her with the rug as she lay down on her side. "Thanks, Tony…"

"We're not done talking yet," he told her seriously. "Sweet dreams anyway."

"Mmmm…"

He drew the drapes to darken the room for her, and wandered off into the kitchen, where he'd noticed the dishwasher needed emptying and refilling, and when he glanced into the utility room he saw that the clothes basket was overflowing. He supposed Ollie didn't have much time for such things just now, and settled down to an hour of domesticity.

NCISNCISNCIS

Tim sat in the old wheelchair that Ollie had promised him, in front of a desk that had him thinking of a boomerang, or a Gibson Flying V. The top was coated in a frictionless pale blue-grey stippled finish, so that an optical mouse could be used anywhere without the need for a mat. The height of the desk could be adjusted easily by a hand operated hydraulic lever, so a chair could be wheeled underneath, then the desk set at any height. There was a recess to store a gel wrist support, a coffee mug cradle that could be clipped on either wing, and height-adjustable racks that swung in and out, including one to hold a printer and a fax machine.

In front of him an odd collection of cereal packets, Pringle drums and shoeboxes represented equipment, and Tim was just finishing a complicated set of operational mimes that had the staff of Equipease mesmerised, when Caroline's phone shrilled.

"Is he, indeed? I knew I'd need that shotgun. Hold on, Emma…" She looked rather grimly at Oliver. "I'm rather glad you're here. Ackerman just arrived. With company."

"How many?" the cop asked. Caroline went to a monitor similar to the one in the break room, hung from the ceiling where anyone prone to fiddling with electrical gear couldn't reach it, and pulled a remote from some hiding place that even Tim didn't see. The picture came up of Emma's desk, where the young receptionist sat with two average and one rather larger man hulking over her.

"Which one's Ackerman?" Ollie asked.

"Moe," Caroline said darkly, pointing to a guy with dark straight hair that spread out like a mop from a central point on his crown. "I don't recognise Curly or Larry. And I was only joking about the shotgun. Unfortunately."

"Good," Ollie said. "You leave this to us. Do you have a store-room or something in your office?"

"I have a loo…"

"That'll do nicely. Tim, will you go along with this? I know we've already promised you an explanation."

"Ackerman ba-a-ad… that's good enough for me…" They hurried to Caroline's inner sanctum, and were standing silently like two naughty kids smoking in the school toilets, when Emma showed the three stooges in to where Caroline sat at her desk, radiating Cool And Unflappable.

"Mr. Ackerman, gentlemen… do sit down." She smiled sweetly, as there was only one chair. Curly, who had hired muscle written all over him, stood by the door. Larry, who wore specs and carried a briefcase, looked around hopefully, then sat on a side table. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"Miz Yorke, my employers were wondering if you had considered their offer yet?"

"As I told you last time, and the time before, there's nothing to consider. I've told you _my_ terms, they won't change."

"Ah. We were hoping to get something settled today. This is Mr. Swinson, of Swinson and Perks law firm of Arlington."

Larry came forward as if commanded, coughed politely, and offered a document from his brief case. "You'll see, Miz Yorke, that our client has substantially increased his offer. He wishes me to stress that this is to expedite the transaction as soon as possible. It's a very generous offer."

Caroline took the document, quickly got to the relevant parts and shrugged. "My concerns are not addressed, Mr. Swinson. The only thing different is the number of zeros, and they don't come near what this land would be worth as prime real estate."

She got up and paced, ostensibly to relieve her tension, but more to be nearer to the door behind which her allies lurked.

"Just in case Mr. Ackerman hasn't explained, allow me. When this place was in the middle of a swamp I bought the land cheap because no-one else wanted it. I started the business in a small way, and it grew. Which is why the building is an architect's nightmare. We built what we needed, when we could afford it. I'm aware that the draining benefited Equipease by accident, and that this carbuncle of a factory would be a serious blot on a residential landscape."

She paused, and her voice grew hard. "I'm _very_ well aware that people buying your new houses wouldn't want a 'bunch of retards' in their midst, and frankly, I wouldn't want my people bothered by prejudice from them! What they have here is a way to find their own levels, and be happy. I intend to see that they keep that. I won't have their quality of life interrupted.

"Which is why my terms have nothing to do with money. I've no objection to going; to your building houses here. What I want is a purpose-built factory, in a quiet area, ready for us to move into. _Before_ you knock my carbuncle down and build a couple of the ritziest houses up here on the hill. We're not going, under any circumstances, until we have somewhere decent to go. Build, or fit us decent premises and we're gone."

Ackerman frowned, and wouldn't let the lawyer answer. "I've explained many times that we can't do that. If we don't cut the first earth soon, county planning regulations have to all be redone. Our contractors are ready to move. We need to begin now, Miz Yorke."

"Then why haven't you spent the last ten weeks having your contractors fit me a factory, instead of assuming I'd capitulate? We're finished here, gentlemen. Redo your planning applications, then we'll start again. I'll have Emma show you out."

As she moved towards the door, Curly stepped in front of it. They'd been expecting this, since it was the first time Ackerman had brought muscle with him it was clearly a new tactic he was intending to try. Tim and Ollie tensed, but didn't move yet. They could just see the large man through the tiny aperture they'd left, and he was standing in a non-threatening way so far.

"Are you sure you won't move under _any circumstances_, Miz Yorke? I'm sure that accidental cutting of the power cable last month must have caused you great inconvenience. There are lots of things that can go wrong in an isolated spot like this… a collapse of the causeway, a fire… you really would be safer in a different location."

His pause was heavy with unspoken threat. "Some of your staff –"

Caroline had agreed to let Ackerman hang himself, but she was in his face like the tigress Ollie had said she was.

"Oh, no! You WON'T threaten my people! Don't –"

Swinson stepped in smoothly. "Nobody's making any threats, Miz Yorke." He shot a warning look at Ackerman. "We're simply pointing out that it's in your own best interests to sign now. The money would be available immediately; you could rent –"

"Tell your goon to move away from the door." Curly looked hurt, and didn't move. "We don't go until I can tell them we've somewhere of our own to go to."

"You're being unreasonable," Ackerman said, not bothering to hide his fury. He shoved the papers under her nose. "Sign. Now. Let's be done with this."

Curly moved towards Caroline, took her by the shoulders and pushed her down in her chair. Ackerman picked up a pen from her desk and thrust it at her, grabbing her wrist. "Sign, dammit."

"Don't think so," Ollie said cheerfully, stepping out from his hiding place. "Heard a lot about you, Mr. Ackerman. Nice to finally meet you."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Well," Tim said, stepping into view, "he's a cop, and I'm a fed, and that's all you need to know."

"No it's not," Ollie said patiently. "They need to know that they'd better not ever come back."

"Oh, that goes without saying."

Caroline was beginning to smile. Swinson decided to go for damage limitation, and said politely, "Gentlemen, my client will leave now. No threats have been made; he was merely pointing out some important facts. We don't wish to seem like troublemakers."

Ackerman shot him a glare, but followed the lawyer's lead and subsided.

"No threats," Tim said derisively, although he knew that in court the lawyer would be able to carry that point. "What's the matter with your wrist, Caroline?"

Again Ackerman looked belligerent; he had the air of a schoolboy who was about to say 'I didn't do nothin', but again, the lawyer carefully stepped in. "Mr Ackerman, these gentlemen clearly didn't see from where they were, how you tried to prevent Miz Yorke from stumbling as she sat down. Those elegant shoes have very high heels…"

Tim took a close look at the lawyer. He deferred to Ackerman, but his eyes were sharp and calculating. The man was a lizard. "Leave," the agent said. "All three of you. If you come back we'll arrest you."

"Sir, that would require an injunction –"

"There'll be one in place within the hour. Leave."

Curly glowered at him as they went, but he walked quickly towards him and the man just as quickly turned away. Ollie grinned. "Wow," he said. "McIntimidating…" and laughed at the look of resignation on Tim's face. "Just call me DiNozzo," he said.

NCISNCISNCIS

The dishwasher was running, the whites were in the dryer and a load of coloureds were in the washing machine. The kitchen was clean and tidy, and Tony was hunting something appetising for lunch, when he heard a yelp from the living room. He hurried in. Jeanette was sitting up on the sofa and rubbing her right calf furiously.

"Hey, you OK?"

Uh-oh… silly question. The down-turned, mean mouth was trying to sneak back. "No. I need a pain-killer."

"I'll fetch them. Stop biting, you know I'll only bite back."

Jinny tried to smile. "Sorry. But I do need one. And the loo."

He fetched the pack, and a glass of water. Disefenac… not one he'd ever heard of, and he thought he knew every analgesic in creation. He brought the antibiotics that she was still taking for the wounds in her leg where the screws had gone through to the bone, and she took them meekly enough, before he lifted her into her chair, opened the door to the downstairs toilet for her, and left her to it.

He went to heat up the chicken soup he'd found in the freezer; it looked home made, and he guessed kind neighbour. He kept an ear out for Jinny at the same time, and after a while he heard the crash of the loo door being slammed overly hard, then the crunch of the living room door being barged open. The Jinny who bowled her way into the kitchen doorway was definitely the one he'd met that morning.

"Why are you cooking? I don't want food. I'm not hungry. I'm never hungry."

Tony waved the wooden spoon in a fairly rude gesture. "That didn't take you long."

"What? Going to the loo? What the hell would you care?"

"No… losing your temper again. It's as if…" He blinked as one of his random ideas materialised.

"_What?"_

He turned the gas off under the soup, spun her chair round and chugged her back into the living room, snatching up the painkillers as he went. He looked into the box. "There should be a leaflet with these…"

"There isn't," Jinny snapped. "We looked. I thought Ollie had lost it."

Tony shook his head. "I've got a feeling…" No information, plain pack but for the name – he was tapping speed-dial as he spoke.

"Hey, Patch… yeah, fine, you? How's your gorgeous wife, and my gorgeous god-daughter? Yeah, Sunday, not forgotten, I'll bring the ribs… course I want something, don't I always? What can you tell me about Disefenac?"

**AN: The chapters won't always be this long… but I wanted to get to this point before I stopped.**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Bit of a mish-mash this chapter, still setting the scene really. Got a feeling this is going to be a long one...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 3

They stood where they'd stood before entering the building, looking out again over the causeway.

Two smiling young men, who hadn't much to say for themselves, had packed the dismantled desk efficiently into the back of the Tahoe, and Caroline had accompanied them to the vehicle; it was as if she wanted to see with her own eyes that the unwelcome visitors had gone.

"They'll find other ways," she said. "I don't know why they don't just give me what I want… it'd be simpler, and cheaper, and if they'd done it when I asked, they'd have their land by now."

"What about the disruption?" Tim asked. "Wouldn't that happen anyway?"

Caroline shook her head. "More than half my workforce is autistic," she explained. "There are many different forms, that's why they talk about the autism spectrum. For my people, relating to the outside world is difficult, even though they're pretty smart, but if I give them parameters to work in that they _can_ relate to, they're fine. Even better, they're happy, and creative, and _fulfilled_.

"I'm not being patronising here, or talking them down. They're good people, and they've got _rights_. I'd have talked up the move, and told them that everything would be the same, except for the things that would be better. Their familiar things would have gone with them, the equipment they're used to, and our other staff, who they trust, and who I might add are saints alive, would have helped them make the transition painlessly. Why couldn't –"

She broke off, shaking her head. Tim nodded thoughtfully. "It smacks of malice, you know," he said. "You stood up to them instead of knuckling under, and instead of seeing how reasonable your terms were, they were just mad that you dared to make them."

"So, they'll find other ways," the small tigress reiterated. "It's not just me," she added suddenly. "I'm not paranoid. They're after others too…"

"Wouldn't think you were, even if we hadn't met the Three Stooges," Ollie said. "Who else, then?"

They both listened very carefully as Caroline explained, realising that there could be a far bigger picture here. She belonged to a businesswomen's association, and a good half dozen other members had mentioned intimidating encounters with strangers who simply turned up out of the blue. They had an emergency meeting scheduled for the middle of next week, to compare notes and decide where to go from there.

Talking to business_men _had brought up a few alarming stories too, although not nearly so many. The brains behind whatever this was clearly thought, _"Erroneously,"_ Caroline snapped, that women were easier to frighten. She reeled off five or six names of lady bosses who were quite prepared to stand and fight.

"Well, they're not alone, and neither are you," Ollie told her. "I'll start checking these guys out as soon as I get back."

Caroline stood on tiptoe and still couldn't reach, so he bent down to hug her and she kissed his cheek. "Off you go. Jinny will love the desk, you'll see…"

"She's a good person," Ollie Lasz said thoughtfully as they drove away. "She'd like a bigger factory, then she could help more autistic people to work and earn a living. Ackerman and whoever he works for could have enabled that."

Tim nodded. "Now I've met the tigress, I can see what you mean. How long has she been running the business?"

Ollie shot him a look, and decided to speak. "Since she lost her brother," he said. "Stephen. She brought him up. He was autistic, very bright, but easily led, like a child. He was a good swimmer, but he couldn't read a dangerous situation, and when his more aware friends egged him on, he dived where he shouldn't have."

"Oh hell…" Tim said softly.

"Yeah. The water was shallow, and he broke his neck. Caroline thought it was her fault because she wasn't with them. She was at work, what could she have done? She was always grateful to his friends when they took him out." He sighed. "She tells me a few of them are still living with the guilt too, twenty years later. She started the business as soon as she could raise the money and the support."

"And you're screwed if you're going to let anyone spoil that."

"_They're_ screwed if they try."

"I'm with you on that. My team will be as well," Tim said with certainty.

"I know it," Ollie said gratefully. "Not sure how I can involve Navy Feds though." In a very short time he was going to find out…

"I wonder what Jinny _will_ think of the desk," he went on, suddenly hit by an unexpected wave of despondency, that Tim had the devil of a job talking him out of on the way back to Alexandria. He felt a bit guilty that he hadn't given Tony's part of the deal much thought all morning.

There was a car that looked vaguely familiar, a big Saab, outside the Lasz house. "I've seen that before somewhere," Ollie said in puzzlement.

"So've I. It's Patch Hastings' car. You'll have seen it at Valley House the morning we arrested all those smugglers. I wonder what he's doing here?"

Tim had an idea he knew, but simply said, "Well, he's a friend of Tony's..."

"Yeah, I heard something about that." Well, he didn't think there was a law enforcement officer in the whole of DC who _hadn't _heard the story of Lucy Hastings' arrival into the world.

More alarming than the Saab, however, was the highly noticeable red GMC coming up the street. "That's Luke's car," Ollie went on in alarm. "Our MD! What's going on?"

He was hurrying towards the house, when the door opened, and Tony stepped out. Before Ollie could say a word, he held up a hand to forestall him. "Take it easy, Ollie. Jinny's fine. Really. Patch called in your family doctor, it's protocol."

"Then what..."

"Come inside. I'll explain."

Ollie dashed into the living room, and stopped dead. Jinny sat on the sofa, smiling sleepily, and talking whispered nonsense to the small person cradled in her arms, who was smiling just as sleepily back, and doing adorable as if she understood that that was her job at that moment. Oliver recognised the tall, gangly Patch Hastings, although he'd only met him the once. The Naval doctor raised a hand in greeting, but didn't break off from talking urgently, and with some heat, into his cell phone.

"Callum, I'm not looking to assign blame," Patch was saying. "And I'm not seeking to prescribe for someone else's patient – Luke Toman's on his way to do that, but I _am_ telling you what should never have _been_ prescribed... No, I want the person who did to realise they're not under any circumstances to let it happen again. It's up to you how you deal with it. Mmm... yes, it probably was just that someone never read the notes thoroughly... no, I'm sure it wasn't deliberate... look, Callum, I don't even want to know who – but you need to sort it. I'll be checking. Yeah. Bye." He disconnected with a frown, and let his breath out in an irritated huff. "He's afraid he'll get sued," he said contemptuously. "Somebody ought to be."

He had everyone's attention, including that of Dr. Toman, who Tony had just shown in. "OK," he said more calmly. "_Maybe_ I don't mean that literally – nice to see you again, Detective Lasz – Luke, I've already explained to Jinny... this stuff Disefenac. Clinical trials only, for post-operative pain, for which it's proved very effective so far. Not for general prescription, definitely not to be sent home with a patient, and _definitely_ not to be combined with antibiotics. Side effects known to exist, from allergic reactions to fainting – and mood swings."

Ollie choked back something rude, closed his mouth with a snap, and rushed to put his arms round his wife. "Jinny..." She began to try to apologise, but he shushed her gently. Tony scooped Lucy up with a practised arm, to leave them both unencumbered.

"Tony knows what painkillers can do," Patch Hastings went on. "He noticed the change almost straight after Jinny took it, and he also recognised the type of packaging used for trial drugs." He snorted. "It seems he's been hospitalised so many times he knows more about medication than I do!" He looked at Ollie as the said agent snickered in the background, and said reassuringly, "He called me, because it's my field of expertise. I called Luke, because I'm not Jinny's doctor, and we discussed over the phone what immediate steps to take. On his say-so I gave her a mild sedative to take the edge off the symptoms."

Luke Toman shook his head. "I trusted the hospital without question," he said furiously. He looked at the couple on the sofa. "I'm here to put things right," he told them tersely. "We'll review Jinny's meds, and find her something that only does her good. Dr. Hastings has offered to consult on that. And if you want to take it any further with the hospital, I'll find out who you need to go after!"

Ollie started to say something equally furious, but Jeanette shook her head slowly. "Let's wait and see, Ol... nobody ever treated me anything but well there... I'm sure it was just a mistake..." The sedative was beginning to take effect; she grinned when her husband gave her a resigned shrug, unsurprised at her forgiving nature after all she'd been through. Maybe this was where he started to get his Jinny back. She settled down to sleep curled up against him.

Tim looked from her to Lucy, spark out on her godfather's shoulder, and grinned. "Looks like it's catching," he said. Tony smiled back, and interrupted Patch and Dr. Toman's medical discussion long enough to reluctantly hand the five month old dreamer back to her dad.

"Our work here is done, Grasshopper," he said solemnly, and they began to head for the door.

"Guys -" Ollie called urgently, "Hey... thanks -"

Tim flapped a dismissive hand. "You need anything, just call, right?" he told him, and the two agents left, arguing about Kung Fu and the Lone Ranger.

"You know _films _– they were TV shows. And anyway, it was Buffy."

"Buffy? McGeek, you don't even watch TV..."

"All right then, Mary Poppins..." The front door closed softly behind them.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

They'd come in Tim's car, and the whole of the short journey back was taken up with his telling Tony of what had happened at Equipease. As they headed up the Anacostia Freeway the SFA was silent for the most part, listening hard and only asking the occasional question. It was only as they crossed the Eleventh Street Bridge that he suddenly remarked plaintively, "Er... aren't we off work today?"

Tim blinked. "Oh... yeah – I meant to drop you off at home first – sorry..." They were already heading down towards the Navy Yard. "I'll turn round."

"Nah, don't bother." Tony had figured it out. "You want to check that that injunction's in place."

"You got me. I asked Phil from legal to just cast his eyes over it as a favour, and to recommend the right judge! It needs to be right."

"Let's go see, then."

"You sure, Tony? I've taken half of your day off already."

His friend just grinned. "I got to see Lucy..."

The squad-room was almost deserted, unusual on a work day, but not unheard of. Somewhere out there, the dirtbags must be active, and all the duty teams were off somewhere. Tony warmed up his computer, intending to learn about Equipease and its tigrine boss while Tim went down to Legal, but hadn't got very far before his phone buzzed against his hip.

"Yeah, Boss. In the bull pen actually... long story, I'll tell you when I see you. Has to do with Kath's team." He hoped Gibbs could hear the leer in his voice; he certainly intended him to. He picked up a pen and began to scribble. "O...kay... McGee's here, you want me to ask him? Day off? What day off? No, I know it's a Marine, but Tim and me'll handle it. Yeah."

Well, at least it wasn't a murder. Young Marine, assaulted and beaten up at an Animal Farm? Four legs goo-oo-ood, two legs ba-a-ad – stoppit, DiNozzo. Tail Stars Ranch – was that a misprint Gibbs had read out to him? Trail Stars? He googled it, and Gibbs had been right. Animals trained with kindness for film and television; the ranch prided itself on its treatment of its stars – but what was a Marine doing getting beaten up there? He went in search of McGee to tell him his day off was screwed.

Tim had only one thing to say, and to his credit, it wasn't a grumble. "Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidences, right?"

Tony blinked. "One of Caroline's feisty lady boss friends?" he asked, astonished. His friend simply nodded wryly.

The Riverbend Park area was beautiful; it was also heavily wooded, so that anyone there with ill-intent had plenty of cover. Tail Stars was not well signed, it wasn't a petting zoo and didn't encourage casual gawkers, and without their GPS they might not have found it, but when they came to a broad compacted dirt road through the trees, with 10 mph signs every hundred yards they knew this was it. As they pulled into the parking area, a pretty young woman with an out-door tan, carrying a saddle, freed one arm to give them a cheery wave, hung the Mexican rig over a fence and dug out a cell phone. She spoke for a moment then walked over.

"Hi." She gestured at their car. "NCIS? Ness'll be with you right away." She went to fetch the huge saddle again, and both men instinctively moved to help her. She waved them away with the same cheerful grin. "Don't worry. We do this all the time." She strode away with the rig that was almost as big as she was.

A bit puzzled, thinking there should be a crime scene, an injured man and an ambulance, they stood looking round at the neat rows of boxes and runs, and the clean paddocks with automatic water troughs and tidy post-and-rail fences. Some of the paddocks were occupied by horses, one by four reindeer and a donkey, and one by a couple of the most comical looking big brown mules. There were other enclosures with goats, llamas and pigs. The whole place had an air of organisation; it looked well kept and well run – except for one line of sheds near to the boundary and the trees. Two people were taking them apart – what was left of them, that was. There had clearly been a fire.

The beat of hooves coming nearer made them turn, to see a dapple-grey horse approaching. Its fine bone structure and the concave profile of its nose made Tony say uncertainly, "That's an Arab, yes?"

"I do believe," Tim said, "that that's an Arab stallion. How many films can – no... don't answer that."

The woman riding the grey horse without saddle or bridle slid from his back, and slapped his rump lightly. He shook his head. "Go," she said sternly, and he shook his head again and butted her pocket. She fetched out a treat, which he took delicately, put the end of his nose against her cheek in what looked suspiciously like a kiss, then ambled off down the paddock. The woman ducked through the fence and smiled slightly at the two stunned agents.

"His party trick," she said lightly. "Well, one of them. That's Faris Hassan; he's very smart. Vanessa Falconbridge. Everyone calls me Ness." She stuck out a hand that was even more tanned than the younger woman they'd already met.

Introductions over and badges shown, Tony said, "We're a little bit bewildered, Mrs – er, Ness. We were told a US marine had been injured here."

"It's true. He's gone back to work, stubborn kid... he was on guard duty last night."

They'd fallen into step beside her, as she led them back towards a low, ranch-style one storey house, and into the kitchen, pausing at the door to yell at one of the demolition crew, "Guy? Come over? Find Murf and bring him?" The young man waved his reply.

The kitchen was big and friendly, with a welcoming range, differing from the usual farmhouse kitchen only in the bank of monitors along one wall. There was an unoccupied desk in front of it with a computer and mini -exchange phone, and, they noticed, a long gun locker with a combination lock. Security was big round here...

Ness saw their look. She didn't comment for a moment, but went to the coffee pot on the range. She lifted it and raised her eyebrows; they both nodded, and she filled five mugs, and reset the pot to brew. As she did so, she explained.

"We've always had good security," she said tightly. "We've needed it just lately." Her face twisted and her voice was bitter. "My son, Guy... he's fifteen, he'll be here in a moment – he was on duty last night, with Murf. That's Private First Class Jim Murphy, nephew of our head wrangler, on leave from the Marines. Since the latest attack, we've had two people on night watch every night. They heard a noise, saw somebody on the cameras, going into the tack room. They switched the yard lights on and ran out to corner him, and he attacked them with the fire extinguisher, swung like a club. Murf got hit a few times protecting Guy, and the intruder got away; into the woods, by the direction he was heading."

Tony took a swig of his coffee. It was OK for no hazelnut. "I'm still puzzled. Why wait until now to report it?"

"Well... we weren't going to report it at all... the local police have got enough on their plate since – oh, I'll tell you that later. I'm a veterinarian – I patched Murf up, checked no bones were broken, and the two of them insisted on going back on duty. We left the yard lights on, and there were 'no further incidents'."

She made quotation marks with her fingers, while the two agents were still getting their heads round the idea of a Marine being treated by a vet. Ness thought nothing of it. "I'm getting used to Police report-speak," she went on. "They both got a few hours kip, came back to work, and it was then that Murf thought of NCIS. Apparently one of his mates on board an aircraft carrier, couple of years ago, was proved innocent of theft by some agent he described as a smart-aleck, so he decided he wanted you to know. He doesn't think there's much you can do, but I guess we need all the help we can get."

Tim looked at his partner, who was resolutely suppressing a grin, but who still managed to look smug. He said hastily, "What else were you going to tell us about?" This time the glance that flicked between him and Tony said something like _'Can of worms... got a tin opener?' _

"Mom means the fire," an angry young voice said from the open doorway. Ness handed her son a mug of coffee without interrupting. "We thought they'd attack the horses, so we were watching them."

"So... they attacked whatever lived in those burned out boxes," Tony said quietly. The teenager's anger was threaded through with grief, and a whole lot of if-onlys...

"The birds of prey," Guy Falconbridge said. "They didn't just burn the boxes down..."

"They broke in first," the young man who'd followed him through the door stepped in quickly, as if not wanting the boy to have to say the words. His bruised forearms and face identified him. "They wrung the necks of some of the birds... they threw them on the floor and stamped on them. They pulled some of them apart and threw the bodies on the path for us to find., then torched the place. It's close to the boundary fence, and we should have been watching..."

Tony frowned. He could hear the anguish and rage in the Marine's savage tone, and said just as quietly, "They'd have just done something else. Don't blame yourselves. Why did the birds not make a noise and alert you?"

Ness said bleakly, "They were at home with people... they trusted them."

Tony nodded, his face betraying how sick that made him feel. "You've been receiving threats." Ness looked startled, and he went on, "It's not just random vandalism, and anyway, before you think I'm a mind reader, Special Agent McGee's been talking to Caroline Yorke. She had a lot to tell him."

"There's something going on," Ness said.

"It's like the Mafia have decided they want everyone's land," Guy added, and Tony didn't feel the slightest urge to tell the lad his imagination had been fuelled by watching too many films.

"Metro back in DC think so," he agreed, "We've been -"

He broke off as there was a sudden commotion outside. They heard animal cries, a girl's voice shouting, high and angry, and laughter from further away. The young men wanted to dive out through the door, but the agents stopped them. Down by the fence they could see two youths with what looked like air rifles, and the goats in the paddock there were huddled as far away as they could get, bleating in panic.

"Is there another door?"Tony murmured. "If we can circle round without them seeing us, we can get them." Ness pointed silently, and they left through the front door on the other side of the ranch-house. A few moments later, after circling behind the loose-boxes, the two agents exploded from cover, vaulted the fence and took after the intruders like a couple of dobermanns.

**AN: Faris Hassan – handsome knight.**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Oh dear me... apologies for not updating sooner – I went up to see the family in the north, and the weather was so good I stayed a few extra days. My arms are quite brown, which is nice. The legs remain as pasty as a plate of porridge. Sad...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 4

Tony's catch didn't even make him out of breath. He watched (and heard) the erratic way the youth was taking, through thick undergrowth and densely planted trees, and chose himself a much easier route to cut him off. As the young thug found a clearer path and slowed to a walk, grinning, thinking he was home free, the tall agent simply stepped out in front of him.

"What the -"

The punk said something unprintable, ending with what could have been an instruction to get out of his way.

Tony grinned easily. "Let's try that again, shall we? What you mean is, 'I know I'm under arrest, and I'm going to drop my weapon and come quietly.'"

The kid let loose a few more profanities and threw a punch, which didn't collect anything but air; the next moment he was on his face on the dirt path, with no idea how he'd got there, and enjoying the feel of a knee placed none too kindly in the small of his back. He continued to swear until his captor hauled him to his feet, yanking hard on his cuffed wrists, when he yelled in pain.

"Ow, man, you're killing my arms! Let up, dammit!" He felt his neck being prodded by his own weapon, and stuttered to a halt.

"There," Tony said, "I knew you'd see things my way. Fine creeping around in the night, slaughtering defenceless chickens -"

"They weren't chickens, they were hawks -"

The youth stopped and shut his mouth with a snap, as Tony hooted with derisive laughter. He prodded him again with the air rifle, holding it by the narrow neck at the front of the stock, where he wouldn't blur the owner's fingerprints. "Mush, Einstein. Move."

The youth tried again. "I didn't say anythin'. You got no witnesses."

"Like I care. I'll soon get the truth out of you in interrogation."

"No need, Tony. I heard. Sorry to spoil your fun." His partner, plus prisoner, fell into step beside him. He added glumly, "Actually, we're probably honour bound to let Virginia SP have first chew at them."

Disappointed sigh. "Aww... So," brightly, "How'd yours go?"

Tim hadn't had to run as far, but harder and faster; just his luck to get a little, wiry greyhound to chase. But the kid had no stamina – from twenty yards behind him Tim could hear the harsh, panicked breathing, and wasn't surprised when, knowing how fast he was being caught up with, the youth stopped and whirled round, gesturing with his air gun.

"Get away from me! I'll shoot you!"

"I'm not a goat, I'm a Fed. You'll find it a bit more difficult."

The boy gestured at Tim's right side. "You're not packing." He was beginning to lift the rifle, when Tim hitched the left side of his jacket to reveal his Sig.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. I can draw this and fire before you can aim." He could, too... and the kid knew it. He dropped the gun and raised his hands.

When he'd heard the tale, Tony grinned hugely. "Way to go, McDuke!" They shoved the prisoners back under the fence, Tim covering them without prior discussion, until Tony had ducked under and taken over.

As they straightened up, the two punks stopped in alarm, and the agents took the scene in at a glance. Ness was putting a dressing on the arm of a pretty young hispanic girl, who they recognised as the one who'd shouted angrily in defence of the livestock. It seemed as if she'd been struck by a pellet herself. Murf stood nearby, holding a first-aid box. Guy, and the girl who'd greeted Tim and Tony had been checking the goats over, but Guy straightened up.

"Foggy's got a graze on his knee. Can't find anything wrong with the – that's_ them_! Well, that one is... he's even wearing the same tee! He's one of the ones who killed the birds. He's on the video! _And _he shot Sanchia!" The teenager pointed at the girl with the dressing on her arm, then flew at the cuffed youth, and Tim held him off, as gently as he could.

"It's all right. He's already admitted it." That only made the boy wilder, and Tim grabbed his shoulders. "You have to share," he said firmly. "Everyone wants a piece of him." That got Guy's attention. Was that the sort of thing a _Fed _should say? He stopped, eyes wide with surprise, and Tim shook his head. "He'll get what's coming to him," Tim went on. "There's no need to go down to his level. Hey, and in the meantime, we need him to tell us what he knows."

The boy's shoulders slumped and the rage went out of him. "He'd better," he said bitterly.

Tony said quietly, "McGee, why don't you get Guy to show you the video he just mentioned," and Tim nodded. _Get the lad out of here._.. They headed back towards the house. Tony looked at Ness and the injured girl, and said thoughtfully, "Miz Falconbridge, d'you have an empty loose-box or somewhere we can talk to these two?"

The boss lady caught on. She smiled thinly. "Of course," she purred. "The two foaling boxes opposite the burned out pens are both empty. We had to move the mares; the charred smell was upsetting them."

Tony turned to Murf, raised his eyebrows at him, and said sharply, "Marine!"

Private First Class Murphy played his part, snapped to attention, and said, "Sir!" crisply.

"McGee's looking at these clowns on film. I'm down an agent. Care to help?"

"Yes, Sir. _Glad _to, sir."

"Ladies," Tony began solicitously. (He'd have been enjoying himself hugely if the spectre of murdered animals and unpleasant, unnamed threats hadn't been hanging over the place. As it was, he was still having _some_ fun.) "Ladies, why don't you attend to things here, and then go get a hot drink in the kitchen? Treat Sanchia for shock?"

"It's only a graze," the girl began, but Ness hushed her.

"I know, dear, but you were very brave, facing people with guns. I need to make sure you're all right. Besides," she said mordantly, with an amused glance at the two youths, "I don't think we want to be around here just now."

The skinny youth that Tim had captured took an involuntary step forwards, before Murf hauled him back. "You can't leave us with -"

Vanessa Falconbridge looked slowly at the burned out aviary. "Of course I can. If I didn't have other things to do I'd join them."

The other girl, who'd been treating the goat, said "That's done, Ness," and the three walked away towards the house. Tony nudged his prisoner forwards without a word, Murf did the same, and a few moments later, the two were shoved none too gently into a loose-box. Tony didn't bother to close the door, he simply stood between it and the two young thugs.

"Now," he said cheerfully, "Who are you two dumbos working for?"

The wiry youth opted for silence. The other tried defiance. "We're not saying anything. We want a lawyer!"

Tony looked round and shrugged. "Don't see one. Who put you up to this?" As he spoke, he removed his denim jacket and hung it over the half door, turning his back on them contemptuously.

"You can't do this!" The defiant one was backing away into the corner. "You can't beat on us, we're in cuffs!"

"Ah," Tony said, as if he'd only just realised. "It seems they're requiring us to demonstrate that we conform to certain operational and moral standards they don't hold to themselves."

Murf watched their reaction and grinned. "I don't think they understood that at all, sir. He _means_, you want us to play fair," he explained patiently. "_You_ want _us_ to play fair."

"Ah," Tony said again, while the youths were still digesting that.. "Sure..." He reached for his key and released them both, then stepping back he hitched his thumbs through the belt of his jeans. He smiled at them kindly; as kindly as the Big Bad Wolf with the Piggies cornered. "_There _we are, then... So... who are you working for?"

That was that for the defiance. "We don't know!"

A few minutes later, without lifting a finger, he was calling VSP, to arrange a collection. "You forced that out of us," the street lawyer attempted. "You threatened us... we'll say you beat us up..."

"No we didn't -" Murf began irately, but shut up again when Tony grinned.

"Oh, haven't you got the message about the 'no witnesses' thing yet?" He pointed up at a tiny, lozenge-shaped box in the corner of the ceiling. "It. Doesn't. Work. Foaling boxes always have cameras, you know. No... you don't know. You only know about _hurting _animals. You know my partner went back to the house to watch us on the monitor, don't you? You don't? Well, he'll have seen just how hard we had to beat you up to get you to talk." He nudged the youths outside again, and cuffed them to a sturdy fence post. "Now, you wait there for the cops – they'll be real happy to see you." He and Murf walked back towards the house.

"They don't know a damn thing," he regretfully told the assembled company, including four VSP officers, back in Ness's comfortable kitchen a while later. They'd be running out of coffee mugs soon. "We've got them bang to rights for the killings, and for hurting Sanchia and the goats. Oh, and for threatening Federal Agents."

"Will they go to prison for all that?" It was young Guy who asked the question, throwing an intense look at Tim as he remembered what this particular agent had told him.

Tim didn't have to answer. "For as long as we can possibly make it," one of the VSP officers told him matter-of-factly. Guy subsided, satisfied.

"Neither one of them is the guy who attacked Private Murphy with the fire extinguisher. Murf's sure of it, and Ness agrees that neither one's build matches up with what's on the tape." Tony nodded to the Sergeant who seemed to be the leader of the State Police contingent. "We'll get you a copy of that, in case it's useful."

Tim said thoughtfully, "How did they keep in touch with whoever was holding their leashes?"

The SFA grimaced. "They spend most of their time down at a pool hall, out in Trinidad... Almond's, very smart place. Not. According to Street Lawyer, the bartender asked if they wanted to earn some cash, and gave them a cell phone." He handed it to the Sergeant in an evidence bag. "That's it – the sum total of their knowledge. They find their money in a locker at the pool hall when a job's been done. We'll check, of course, but the barkeep will say some guy came in, when he said heavy work he thought he meant construction, he won't be able to recall his face, etc. etc. If there's any money in the locker when we go there we'll print it, and the locker, and you know right now we'll come up with nothing."

The Sergeant shook his head. "Our case, we'll do the work. The area's not our jurisdiction, mind you, but we'll ask Metro to do it for us. You've given us those two deadbeats on a plate, which is nice; you concentrate on your case, and we'll keep in touch if there's any way they cross. Got a feeling they will."

Sitting at the big kitchen table, one officer had finished taking witness statements, and rose to his feet. Sanchia rose too, and both agents saw with an inner smile how Guy hurried to her side. It was the signal for the Sergeant to shake hands all round and gather his men, the air-gun evidence and the statements, and depart with a 'Be in touch, Ma'am,' to collect his prisoners.

For a moment there was silence, which Tony broke by remarking heavily, "He's right of course. We've got the tip of the iceberg here."

"We need some way of pulling in information and co-ordinating it," Tim said, still thoughtfully. "We're going to need to talk with Maryland PD, Metro, VSP, and anyone else who's investigating instances of coercion." He sighed, and went to put his empty coffee mug to be washed. "Which is all very nice but it doesn't get us any closer to knowing who attacked Murf," he went on, then stopped dead, looking at a photo in a frame on the wall near the range. "Tony, look at this!"

Ness was smiling as the older agent went to take a closer look. She waited, until Tony said in an awestruck voice "That's..."

"Yes. It's John Wayne. On the set of 'True Gritt' in 1969. The younger man standing by him is my father, Shep Falconbridge. Took me to meet him... The baby the Duke's holding is me. My dad had been a wrangler for Universal, but he got mad at the way horses were treated as commodities, not creatures. I mean – if you wanted a rider to take a spectacular fall on film, you tied a very long rope to a horse's fetlock, and the stuntman would gallop it flat out until the rope went taut, and the horse would go down. The rider'd be fine, he knew it was coming – the horse quite often not so. Wayne disliked the whole way things were, and backed my dad with public approval and a donation, to start the business. As far as my dad was concerned, the Duke was the _best_."

Tony just nodded, lost for words.

They took the fire extinguisher, and the film from the previous night; beyond that there wasn't much they could do except urge Ness to be vigilant, and to promise her they'd be investigating thoroughly.

As they drove away, Tony said seriously, "Decent people, doing a decent job. Just like your Caroline. You know you mentioned malice having a hand in her problems? It looks like the same here. You want to hack down all the surrounding woodland, get rid of the ranch and build houses in this prime spot -"

"If you can bribe someone in power to get you round the planning laws -"

"But you could build your expensive houses anywhere, so why pick somewhere where something else is already in your way?"

"Mmm," Tim agreed. "It's as if whoever's pulling the strings wants to spoil things for other people who've got what he hasn't."

"Yeah. Warped, twisted, intelligent malice. We need to talk to Gibbs and Ziva. Time off or not."

Tim nodded, reaching for his cell phone. "And we need to get ourselves a co-ordinator. I know just the right person."

The car jerked slightly as Tony twitched the wheel in surprise. "McGoogle, I've said it before, you're a McGenius. It could be just what Jinny needs!"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

His tutors at law school had taught him many things, some of which he had discarded; others which he had adopted as tenets to live by.

"_Don't feel sorry for the innocent if you're defending the guilty. They have their own lawyers to help them. Your only obligation is towards your client."_

That had morphed somewhere along the way into simply, 'Don't feel sorry for the innocent'.

"_Justice and the law aren't necessary the same thing. What's just in a given situation isn't always as clear as the laws covering it. The law can be flexible; it's up to the ingenious lawyer to bend it if he needs to, to obtain the justice."_

The law can be flexible, he was a damn good lawyer; he could bend it whatever way he liked, to get what he wanted.

Nobody ever noticed the lawyer... he was the anonymous figure at the banker or businessman's side, who shuffled papers and produced them when necessary, and only spoke when invited to. For all his brains, he was looked down on, or not even seen by those he served, who made use of his brain without ever acknowledging that it was better than their own.

_This _lawyer was going to change all that. He was thirty-seven; if anyone had been asked, they would have put him at a good ten years older, and this was something he cultivated, by dress, voice, hairstyle, actions... He was the archetypal grey man, who nobody would remember...

He deferred to the likes of Ackerman; he had a few more like him, each one happily thinking that they were his boss, while he dreamed of the day when they'd be sitting in their cells, knowing that he'd duped them, while he sat in his beach palace on Mustique raising a glass to their health. He was smarter than all of them put together, and he hated them like he hated just about everybody. No particular reason; he was just built that way. The world was peopled by fools, and he despised every one of them. He played his unassuming, unregarded part, until the day when he could spit in all their faces.

Thorley Swinson drummed his fingers on his desk. Those two idiots should have reported in by now, to let him know how their latest harassment had gone. Since they hadn't, it was quite likely that they'd been caught. No matter; they couldn't be linked to him, and even the bartender who recruited them had no direct connection to him. He was well paid for keeping that locker in a back corridor and not looking to see who went near it.

But... not everyone who worked for him was an idiot, and there were those he had direct contact with who he couldn't entirely trust... and now he had three police departments and a federal agency meddling in his affairs.

He'd known at once who Special Agent McGee was, having encountered him as a witness for the prosecution in a case where he'd defended the guilty and hadn't won... he'd known _that_ would be impossible the moment he'd met his client; unless you could gag the man in court his own stupid mouth would condemn him, and so it had.

He knew who the other formidable members of McGee's team were; DiNozzo had also been a prosecution witness in that trial, and he didn't underestimate that cocky bastard any more than he did McGee, or the other members of the team. He'd not forgotten the Metro police detective either; he was another one whose interest he'd rather not have drawn, him and _his_ team.

Swinson needed something to deflect attention away from identifying him; or rather, someone. An idea had been slowly growing for a while now. His mind went back to that court case... When it had been clear that his client was going to prison no matter what, there were many things he could have done to plead mitigation, and got him a much shorter sentence, but by that time he loathed the man so much that he hadn't tried any of them. He'd barely blinked, and smiled inwardly, when the man had raged about the eighteen years he'd been handed down.

It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, and now he couldn't think of a more appropriate front-man to take the heat for him when the time came. Never mind, poor, dear Arthur, you've been in there almost a year... I'm going to get you out of jail – for the time being...

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

They met at one of their favourite diners; Gibbs still with the light aroma of sawdust around him, Ziva in gym clothes and glowing with vitality. Tony and Tim had to hand the story back and forth between them in order for either of them to actually eat, and they were both ravenous after their 'day off'.

"Yeah," Gibbs said after a while, "It looks as if you're on to something here."

"I hope it will lead to better things for Jeanette," Ziva said, remembering her time working with the Metro detective on the Frandsen case. "This tin...can of worms you have opened up may prove to be very large." She smiled at getting the expression right, then frowned in puzzlement when there was no reaction from Tony. He appeared to have tuned out for a moment, and was staring into space.

Tim saw her bewildered glance and grinned. "Oh, take no notice," he told her. "He's just met someone who once met John Wayne."

**AN: So, two really nasty baddies for the price of one... please let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the wait... a bit of action this time.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 5

After the day off that never was, nothing much happened for a while... or a huge amount happened; it depended on how you looked at it.

Two weeks on... Tony grunted and swore under his breath, as he pushed a pile of reports away. Dozens of thugs, far too much thuggish behaviour; not a clue to Curly's identity, or a hint on who could be hired to attack off-duty Marines in the dead of night.

"Nothing, then, Tony?" Ziva's voice was mildly sympathetic, but she too was eyeing with distaste the reports on her desk.

"Nothing. 'I will work harder'..."

"We're already working like horses, Tony," Tim complained, correctly identifying Boxer the carthorse from Animal Farm.

"That is true," Ziva said, "But it is necessary to put one's thumb... no, er... yes, one's nose to the grindstone, Tony, is it not?"

"Oh yes," Tim joined in. "And your shoulder to the wheel."

"And your best foot forward," Ziva went on, warming to the subject.

Tony looked depressed. "Guys, how the heck d'you expect me to work in that position?"

"I don't see any work being done at all," came Gibbs' bark, but he was smiling, at least a little, and he'd brought them coffee.

They investigated other cases, whilst keeping a weather eye on both Carolineine and Ness. The businesswomen had each agreed to call them at the first sign of trouble, but life went on uneventfully for them. They and their staff didn't relax their vigilance, working on the assumption that the moment they did would be the moment they invoked Sod's Law.

(Murf had returned to his unit none the wiser as to who had attacked him, but it was amazing how many on-leave Naval personnel suddenly found themselves with nothing to do, and volunteered their help. Two particularly big young men and a very sparky young woman went happily off to Equipease, to Caroline's delight.)

Tony and Tim had spent an energetic few days at Tail Stars themselves, but had netted exactly nothing, except a tan.

_They had stood side by side, fore-arms extended, arguing over who was the most brown. _

"_I win," Tony said gleefully. "You may have a slight tinge, but I on the other hand, am the colour of toast. Very appetising toast."_

"_We've been here three hours, Tony, and had our shirts off for one. And I'm much fairer skinned than you anyway. You're always going on about your Mediterranean ancestry. You've got an unfair advantage. Anyway, we can have this argument when we finish here- if the weather stays decent for the next three days."_

_He hitched his shorts up – they were cut down from jeans he'd bought when he carried more weight, and they were threatening to slide off his rather slim hips. Tony cut a piece of baling twine and handed it to him. "Belt," he said. Tim sneered incredulously until he noticed that his friend's sartorial elegance – tatty shorts, bare legs, like his, shoved into steel toe-capped riggers – was completed by the same effective safety device. _

_They got on with the job of laying concrete; they were setting the foundation for three new loose boxes, where the aviary had been; the new one would be built much further from the fence. As they worked, they watched the woodland beyond the boundary, while some of the female workers covertly watched them. _

_Bobbie, the girl who'd welcomed them on their first visit, took a couple of sneaky photos, and posted them on her LiveJournal account, (with a fairly salacious caption,) which was seen by Thorley Swinson's secretary among others – who showed her boss since she'd been told to tell him if they phoned or called. She didn't know if appearing on LiveJournal counted, but she mentioned it anyway. Neither Bobbie nor the two agents ever knew that this effectively stopped any plans Swinson might have had for Tail Stars at that time. (It also served to make Swinson, who was neither suntanned, muscular nor personable in appearance, dislike them even more.) The loose boxes finished, they returned to NCIS three days later with nothing but a very pleasant bronzing, (Tony still won,) and a small fan club._

The VSP Sergeant they'd met at Tail Stars, whose name was Chris Coppi, _'Yeah, yeah, heard it all_ _before...'_ became their liaison with his department, and they set up a link with Maryland State Police as well. Lieutenant Wigg and her team worked their cases, and came back to the business of prime real estate whenever they had the time. Nobody had anything much to report. They'd looked at Swinson and his middle-of-the-road, totally above board law firm; nothing. Criminal records had brought up nobody resembling Curly. The driving triumvirate of Tim, Tony and Ollie felt it was important to keep chipping away; Gibbs, Ziva, Kath Wigg and her Sergeant, Roy Fordham, all agreed that yes, there was something going on, and yes, it did feel like the tip of the iceberg, but they couldn't move in until they had something to move in on. _Nothing much happened for a while..._

Except... Jinny stood up.

At Metro headquarters in Indiana Avenue, a redundant conference room had metamorphosed, with the help, in some way, of just about everyone in the building, into an incident room, and Jinny was its queen. Ollie had set her desk up there, under a large, bright window, with two phone lines and hardware set up by Tim. There was a coffee machine and a water jug which someone would always remember to replenish, because Jinny didn't find dry-swallowing pills and tablets at all pleasant.

Now that she had medication that suited her, the dreadful mood-swings had gone; the fear, however, had not. Neither Ollie, who'd been there, nor anyone who'd supported him afterwards, nor, for that matter anyone else who'd heard what she'd been through was surprised. But now at least she acknowledged the fear and talked to him instead of yelling _at_ him.

She was afraid of taking the painkillers; she was afraid of not taking them. She feared addiction -

"They're non-addictive, Sweets." (And anyway, she wasn't actually taking that many these days.)

"Physically, yes... but what if I get to be psychologically dependent on them?"

"Hey... didn't Tony say life's full of 'what if's?" (And she'd find every one of them, she knew.)

She feared using her legs, not because of the pain, but because of their weakness, as she saw it. If she tried, they'd shatter. She despised herself for her lack of mental stamina. In spite of physiotherapy sessions which, she acknowledged, hurt her less and less, and forty minutes a day with her feet strapped to the pedals of an electric exercise cycle to help rebuild muscle tone, that wall of 'what if's was twenty feet high in front of her.

She refused to contemplate the callipers she'd been offered. 'Fine,' they told her, 'we'll get you walking without them.' 'Not yet,' she'd countered, looked at the line of circular scars marching down her horrible, ugly right calf, that reminded her of fragmented bone, and thought, 'Not ever.'

But sitting at her space-age desk, painstakingly filtering and cross referencing every meagre scrap of information that filtered through, re-reading reports of every recent case involving coercion, closed or not, hounding (gently) every business and police department from Aquia Harbour to Waldorf for any relevant information they could give her, she thought less and less of her predicament. Of course, that meant that when she remembered, she'd always come back to earth with a bump.

Tony caught her in one of _those _moods one lunchtime, when he dropped by to tell her that Abby had found a partial hand-print on the fire extinguisher that had been used on Murf. He could have phoned, or emailed, but like a lot of others, he was investing time and effort in Jinny and Ollie.

"Abby's sending it to you for your collection. It's not enough to do anything with, but when your digging comes up with something to relate it to, it'll be there."

Jinny propped her elbows on her desk. "If my digging ever comes up with anything," she said glumly. "I'm going nowhere, fast." Tony knew she wasn't really talking about the case, but he chose to deliberately misunderstand.

"Da Silva, Kenyon and Flammand... you found all of them." The names were of three more Ackermans, each responsible for unwelcome visits to business people.

"With absolutely nothing illegal we could pin on any of them."

"That'll come, Jinny." She knew _he_ wasn't talking about the case either. He put his head on one side, looking down at her, in exactly the way he'd done that morning when he'd walked into her living room and riled her into fighting back. "I had a thought." He held his hands out defensively. "Yes, I really did. Not that I don't think you've already thought it ahead of me, I mean you've thunk thoughts on this that I'd never have thought of thinking, and even McGee wouldn't have thunk them..."

She knew that _he_ knew she wasn't going to bite; DiNozzo was doing what DiNozzo did, and in spite of herself, the corner of her mouth was beginning to twitch.

"_Tony!"_

"Mmmm?"

"Just tell me, OK?"

He sat tentatively on the pointy end of her desk, and wasn't told to shift himself, so he relaxed a bit. "Those three lovelies, and Ackerman... have you thought of tracking their credit card activity?"

"No... I had a look at their bank accounts, and none of them are rich enough, on paper anyway, to be the principals in all this. But we've always known there was someone else behind them. Why the cards?"

"Just to know where they've been." He saw her look of disappointment. "It could happen that one day one says, 'He's lying, I wasn't anywhere near Pollit's Organic Bakery on that day', and his card says he bought gas just up the road. It's like the palm print – it just might help us to move faster when we can." He got up and came back to face her, and squeezed her hand. "It's like finding Curly," he said quietly. "The break-through _will_ come, Jinny."

She forced a smile. You couldn't stay down for ever with the friends she had, friends like him, and she did feel lifted a little, however much she didn't want to.

"I'll get on it," she said, and as he grinned and turned to leave, he hoped she meant what he thought she did.

Curly. Credit cards. Gas stations... they had cameras... they knew what the men looked like, but passengers riding with them? Did they ever share enforcers? Like, Curly? Tony had already disappeared, and she yelled after him. "Tony, wait!" She didn't think he'd heard, and she really wanted to see what he thought, so she stood up and took a step towards the door.

Oh... OH! She stopped uncertainly. Her balance was suspect, and the long muscles in her back twanged with the unaccustomed effort of pulling her upright, but her legs didn't disintegrate under her. They began to throb somewhat, with the adjustment of the blood supply, but they didn't hurt much. She was wondering what to do next, when the door opened again.

"Have you thought of somethi..." Tony's eyes flew wide, and his voice trailed off in astonishment. "Jinny!"

She wobbled slightly, and he took two long, hurried steps across the room to her. He went to put his arms round her, but she shook her head.

"No... it's fine. I'm not going to fall." Her voice sounded as surprised as his. "Please, let me just hold..." She reached for his hand and held it, but her grip wasn't over-strong, or panicked.

"Well," he said delightedly, "What do we do now?"

"Er... Ollie.." Jinny said, breathless with shock. "Please, I need Ollie."

Tony swapped her hand to his left, and found his cell phone. "Ollie? Are you far away? Good. Conference in Jinny's office? Right. Yeah. He'll be here in one," he finished off to Jinny as he disconnected. "You OK for that long?"

Jinny's answer was to take another step, out from behind her desk. Tony walked backwards, leading her. As they heard footsteps in the passage outside, he turned to face the door; he really wanted to see the young cop's face, and he wasn't disappointed.

Ollie stared. He croaked "Jinny..."

After a few seconds when nobody moved or spoke, Tony moved her hand from his into her husband's, and tiptoed out as the young couple clung to each other, happy to have been as forgotten as the bad times.

It was a few days before Jinny came down from her cloud and remembered what she'd wanted to tell Tony, and by then it was too late. Ollie took a couple of days off to shepherd her through another round of examinations and x-rays, and as soon as they'd worked out with the physios the optimum ('Their word, Hon, not mine,') plan for getting her back to full mobility, he drove her down to a favourite inn by Occonquan Bay that he'd first discovered with his parents; cosy, homely and welcoming. They sat by the fire, or by the water, or watching the wildlife in the reserve. When the day was sunny, Jinny would roll her pants up and let her legs bask in the warmth.

"They're not ugly," Ollie told her constantly. (He was still a bit surprised at how normal and straight they _were_.)"A bit battered, but your scars will fade. All of them."

She clung to him. "I love you, Ol..."

During the drive back she began to contact the members of both teams; the plan was to book a meal in a favourite restaurant to thank everyone for their support. All she seemed to get was a succession of voicemails...

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony had hunched over his monitor, stopping occasionally to rub his eyes. Since Jinny was away, he felt honour bound to follow through on the credit card idea himself, and he'd had the same thought that she had. So here he was, studying camera footage from every convenience store and filling station in the Harper's Ferry area on the day of Tim's visit to Equipease. No luck. On a hunch, he moved on to the attack on Murf the night before. Same area. Same thug? It was more than possible – would you hire two different guys in the same area? If you had a goon on your payroll, you'd use him, surely?

He was beginning to think it had been a stupid idea when it suddenly proved it wasn't. In a minimart at Great Falls, a likely candidate was buying beer, and adhesive dressings. Please let him be... paying with plastic. Yessss! He was large, with a round head and cropped greying hair. He was dressed all in black, and although the quality wasn't brilliant, Tony could see things stuck to the dark sweater, that could be vegetation. Woodland vegetation. Abby would be able to improve the picture if it were necessary, but Tony didn't think it would be.

When the man got back into his car, the outside camera picked him up so much better as the forecourt lighting was directly on his face. There was a bruise on his cheekbone; Jim Murphy said he'd gotten in at least one punch, and he sat for a moment putting dressings on two knuckles. Poor diddums, Tony thought, and said quietly, "McGee, is this Curly?"

He couldn't have got a better reaction if he'd shouted; the rest of the team were round his desk in an instant. Tim took one brief look, and said "Yes, that's him," without hesitation.

Tony grinned and restarted the recording, and Tim said "Yes!" at exactly the point where he'd yelled it silently himself.

"Go get 'im, Tiger."

It took Tim less than five minutes to do just that, while Tony cropped a still from the recording and sent it to PFC Murphy's unit, with a request for confirmation ASAP.

Maxwell Brock, aged forty-four, returned to the USA from South Africa three months ago, after fifteen years as a security officer at a Kimberley diamond mine. No blemish of any kind on his character, his return having been made necessary by the serious illness of his mother. Tim snorted. "He loves his mum, but he's not above shoving a woman around. Caroline Yorke's less than half his size."

"Address?" Gibbs asked in his usual bark, but it was a pleased bark. Brock had signed up with an agency while he looked for permanent employment, and worked wherever he was sent; the person Ziva spoke to told her that at the moment he was night watchman at a railroad bridge construction site out at New York Avenue. He currently lived with his mother in Queen's Chapel. Or had done; Mrs. Angela Brock had died a month ago from complications after cancer surgery. Tony sighed; he wouldn't wish that on anyone, but if he thought about it selfishly, now he didn't have to make things worse for a terminally ill woman by arresting her son.

Gibbs heard the soft huff of breath and recalled a time when, both loosened up by beer and steak, they'd talked about the human cost of what they did. Someone would always be hurt; you had to remember that you weren't the one who set the events in motion in the first place. He flashed the SFA a look that said 'me neither', and all four agents picked up badges and guns and headed for the elevator.

Brock wasn't at home. The house showed signs of recent repair work – it seemed that the man who'd been away for fifteen years had tried to put things right for his mother when he'd returned. They took their time looking round, then headed slowly out to the construction site, trying to time their arrival to coincide with the ending of the day's work.

It was exactly what they didn't want; a large area, with plenty of cover for a fugitive to hide behind. Damn. They thought for a moment, and Ziva spoke first. "Do you wish me to call for back-up?"

Gibbs was about to say yes, when Tony said, "Got an idea, Boss." Gibbs raised an eyebrow and waited. Tony pointed to a half-finished bridge pillar of intricately woven reebar, and asked Ziva, "Can you get up there without being seen?"

"Of course I can."

"OK... McGee and I are those nuisance officials who go round telling site foremen what to do. We'll find the gaffer, ask him if Brock's on site yet, and where he hangs out. Boss, if you can hide the car, cuz it yells Fed, then sneak back in, between us and Ziva up there as our spotter, we should have him pinpointed by then."

It was better than nothing... Right by where they'd stopped was a pile of concrete pre-castings, and on top of them were a couple of lanterns and three hard hats. Tony chose the two cleanest, and handed one to Tim. "Don't put it on until we're through the gate. Suits don't like to wear them until they have to." He fetched a clip board out of the trunk. Workers were beginning to leave the site, and looked at them derisively. "Walk like you're confident, McCityOrdnance... we have every right to turn up and make their lives a misery. It's what we do." Behind them, Gibbs backed the car away. Ziva had already vanished.

The site foreman saw them coming and managed to look resigned and belligerent all at once, but caught on quickly when Tony explained. "Haven't seen him yet," he said, "but that doesn't mean he's not here. He doesn't have to report to me, so he doesn't bother. Can't work out if he's deliberately trying to annoy me, or if he's just a loner." He told them the places where they might find Brock, then said loudly, "Fine, you're not happy, stay here all night for all I care. I'm going home." He left the site with the last of his men.

The two agents began to stroll round the site as if they owned it, but saw nothing untoward. Tony looked up at the top of the reebar tower; because he knew she was there, he could just about make out Ziva's position; no-one else would have known she was there. She shook her head; nothing.

There was a jumble of parked vehicles, large and small, a bulldozer, a leveller and two diggers as well as an assortment of dump trucks and fork lifts. Beyond them was what looked like the site office, and the usual portaloos. Piles of construction materials were everywhere, so when they heard a slight scraping sound, it was difficult to know just where it had come from, but they knew who it was. They drew their Sigs, the time for pretence over, since it didn't seem to have fooled anyone, and set off to investigate, Tony going left and Tim right.

The SFA moved silently, listening all the time, hoping he could tell the difference between McGee, Gibbs and Brock if he actually heard anything; he didn't want to be responsible for friendly fire. He needn't have worried, a crash and a clatter, angry cursing that wasn't Tim and a loud yell that was, sent him running in the direction of the sounds. He rounded the earth leveller to find no sign of Brock, but McGee was down, pushing himself up from all fours, blood beginning to stain his shirt above the waistband of his pants on his right side.

Tony ran to him, but Tim pushed him away, gasping. "He's -" He raised one hand to point, and promptly fell again, one arm not being enough to hold him. His partner realised what he was trying to say and spun round, trying to bring his Sig up; he jumped sideways and avoided being transfixed by the reebar Brock was trying to use as a spear, but he couldn't avoid the steel pipe swung in his attacker's other hand, as it made violent contact with his ribs.

He staggered back, cannoned into the leveller, and yelped in pain as the ribs that had been broken from the front were pushed again from the back. The reebar was being swung at him again, so he grabbed the end of it and pulled, grimacing as it lacerated the palm of his hand. Brock was put off balance and lurched past him, but jabbed at him again with the end of the steel pipe. The pain was sickening as he felt a rib push inwards, and he staggered to his knees beside McGee. There was no let-up; Brock came charging again, and it was the younger man, lying on his back and losing blood, that he was aiming for.

Tony's vision was blurring with the pain, and he couldn't move fast; he raised the Sig and croaked, "Stop!"

Brock didn't; no choice. Tony fired off two, centre body mass, and as the other man went down, he still had to grab the reebar again and deflect it away from Tim. It ended up sticking in the earth between them.

Tim looked at it, and at the body across his legs, and said, "Shee-ee-eet."

"Worse than that," Tony ground out, trying to put pressure on his partner's side when he couldn't even see where the wound was. "I've stuffed our chances to question him."

"If.. you hadn't... he'd have stuffed... that thing in my guts... again..." he gave up trying to talk.

"Oh... well, when you put it like that..." Tony gave up too.

**AN: A long one, to make up for taking so long.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I've done a bit of tweaking to chapter 5 as well, if anyone's interested.**

**You may need to google Alexei Lalas; again – if you're interested. Plays rock guitar, and played in defence for the US national soccer team in the 1994 World Cup – a real character. I started writing this minor OC, and kept thinking, 'who does he look like? Who does he remind me of?' Then I remembered.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 6

Before talking the doctor into discharging him, (quickly, before Gibbs got there to intimidate the man into changing his mind,) Tony had endured stoically the taping up of two lower ribs on his right side and the treating of his left hand. Well, there weren't any pretty nurses on duty to play up to. The motherly lady who assisted the doctor in the Emergency Department had said kindly, "Honey, there's no need to suffer, you know."

He'd explained about painkillers, but couldn't remember the name of the ones that Ducky had found, by trial and error and with a bit of advice from Patch, didn't send him loopy. He heard the ME's voice...

"_You're entirely too cavalier about your own health, Anthony. I'll tell you the name of this medication three times, and you still won't take it in!"_

"_They all sound the same, Ducky," _he'd replied apologetically, and it was true. He simply couldn't remember. Patch had snarked that he needed the name tatooed on the insides of his eyelids.

Well, he'd go without, since loopy was something he didn't want to be right now, remembering the long, rusty gash in McGee's side and the guy who refused to stop his charge. He may have glibly _told _anyone who asked that he'd become a Fed because of the guns, but no, he didn't feel anything but a shrivelling of his soul when he had to kill, and this one, well, it was plain stupid. Why hadn't the man just stopped?

Tim had taken the painkillers offered, after they'd explained to him the procedure for removing dirt from a deep wound. He'd endured that and the insertion of sixteen stitches in a semi sedated condition, and thought vaguely that he ought to be grateful for small mercies, because it had still _hurt._ Something about risk of infection so they couldn't just glue it... Never mind... without Tony's intervention, he'd likely be dead, with that reebar straight through his guts. Ew.

So here he was, lying obediently in a side room, propped up on pillows, hooked up to blood and antibiotics, and trying to wake up enough to tell Ziva what had happened. "I will write your report for you, McGee," she said firmly. "Since I was not quick enough to save you from injury."

"Wasn't your fault, Ziva. It was Tony who sent you up that tower."

"And I am _not _writing his report."

Tony pouted, but said nothing for the time being; he didn't really have the energy. Which was why he was sitting in a wheelchair; when he'd said he wanted to see how Tim was, Gibbs had forced him into it. "I've picked you up off the floor too many times before to do it if I don't have to." And that was that.

"Well, at least they're letting me out of here," he said finally. "They like you so much they want to keep you, McWooze. I can go back to work and do mine."

"You'll go home, and stay there, DiNozzo."

"Kind of hoped..." He bit off what he'd been going to say. "I'll go home and stay there, Boss."

Gibbs looked at him hard. "You'd kind of hoped what, DiNozzo? To spend the night at your desk?""

"No, Boss."

"Ack," Gibbs said resignedly, "You kind of hoped for some of Ducky's painkillers. You wouldn't take the hospital ones."

Tony shrugged. "You _know_ why, Boss."

"We'll get some on the way. Then you go home."

"Sure." Yes, he would go home, because he'd just shot a man dead, and he wasn't going to be good company for anyone but himself. There was no beer in the fridge, damn, and he wouldn't eat, he knew – even if he could remember what he had in the place to eat – food would just turn his stomach right now. He'd probably have a marathon of the daftest movies he owned, without really taking in much of them, then he'd get a taxi because his Mustang was at the Yard, and go in to do desk duty. Gibbs wouldn't like it, but he _would _understand.

The Marine had been looking at the sleepy McGee and thinking he didn't look too bad, all things considered – but then he had the sense to accept pain medication. _ Be fair; he knows they don't mess with __**his**__ head. _He turned his attention back to his Senior Field Agent, and read a lot on the pale, weary face, not least that he'd probably be back at his desk before Gibbs was. He could also see that the beer and steak treatment wasn't going to work tonight. He personally felt that spending the night loopy would be the best thing for Tony just now.

He was debating what to do, when there came a light tap on the door, and a head looked round it. It was a young man, no more than thirty at most, with very bright blue eyes, a mop of unkempt reddish brown hair and a straggly beard. _Alexei Lalas, 1994,_ Tony thought. _What the heck's he_ _doing_ _here? _

"Er, hello? I'm looking for the Federal Agents?"

"You found 'em," Gibbs said, and as the young man came into the room, Tony noticed that of all things, he wore a dog-collar to his dark purple shirt.

The SFA scooted his wheelchair over to Tim, and seized the younger man's hand dramatically. "Oh , no! Tim, I thought you were getting better... I didn't realise you weren't long for this life! I'd never have stolen your Nutter Butter if I'd known – forgive me, please -"

The expected head-slap was quite light really, as Tim looked at the priest in nervous bewilderment. The young man wasn't at all fazed. "Hey," he said cheerfully, "Why does everyone assume when a priest walks in that he wants to bury them?" He selected Gibbs as clearly the man to talk to, and stuck out his hand. "Charlie Bingham – Father Charlie. I was asked to tell you some things. By a dying man."

"Well," Gibbs said, "That's got our attention."

Tony's eyes widened, then he lowered his head, hoping that nobody could see his face. The odds of it being any other dying man were about the same as the odds on Gibbs dating a blonde, and his stomach roiled. He couldn't even get it right... he hadn't managed to either shoot to wound, which was always his preference if he could, or to finish the guy... he'd made him die slowly...

_Damn it all, what the freak could I have done? He was charging... I couldn't see to judge distance at all... I was sure that bar was aiming for McGee though... I **had **to fire and hope, didn't I? Did I? Hell, yes I did... but did I have to only do half a job either way? _Nobody in the room knew the superhuman effort it took for him to raise his head and take an interest in what the priest was saying. Taken to the same hospital as the Agents, Brock had surprisingly woken after they'd done what they could for him, and asked for a priest. Father Charlie was the hospital chaplain, and he'd hurried to see him.

"I thought he was dead," Gibbs was saying. "I couldn't feel a pulse, and I left him alone to deal with my injured agents."

"He told me he was surprised to find himself still alive," Father Charlie said seriously. "He was a bit annoyed, said now he'd have to do it all over again. I said, 'You mean die?' He said yes, I asked him why he wanted to, and he said everything had gone wrong. He hadn't set out to do badly..."

Max Brock had left the USA after interference from his mother had cost him the girl he loved. He had intended never to come back, only exchanging Christmas cards and the occasional postcard with Angela, until she had contacted him to say she was dangerously ill, and wanted to see him again. His house and most of his money was back in South Africa, and he intended to return so he left it there and looked for work while he was here. He was a tough guy, his job at the mine had required that, so when he was offered bodyguard work, he saw nothing wrong with that.

Then his mother had died; there was risk involved in the surgery, they knew, but even so, he hadn't really expected it.

"At this point," Father Charlie said, "He asked me to hear his confession, but he told me that I had to tell you. He wanted to get right with God, but he needed you to know he was sorry. He said he'd never done anything bad until his mother died, but since then he was – I quote – angry with God. He'd broken into a stable and attacked the boy who came to stop him. He broke into an organic dairy and sabotaged their equipment..."

He gave what amounted to a list of things they knew about and a few they didn't, which at least meant that they could talk to more businesses, and gather more information.

"He was very ashamed of one instance; he manhandled a woman in her own office." Tim didn't interrupt to say he'd _been_ there. "I think he was telling the truth about having been an honest man until his mother died."

"Father," Gibbs said regretfully, "Thanks for telling us all this, but what we need to know is who put him up to all this. Who was he working for -"

The priest shook his head. "He said 'Ackerman isn't the boss. The boss is a shadow. A clever man who hides his cleverness. But he has an iron grip. No name."

"And why did he attack us so violently? He could easily have run."

The priest sighed. "He said he'd already killed someone, although he wouldn't say who. He wanted to die. That's what he said."

This time, the soft hiss of breath through Tony's teeth meant that they all looked at him, but he didn't say anything.

Tim did. "Well, to achieve that, he tried to kill again," he said in a hard voice. "But for Tony, he would have done." He frowned at his friend. "You're thinking you only did half a job, aren't you?"

"Didn't want to kill him," Tony said wearily. "I told him to stop... But yeah, I only did half a job, either way."

Tim turned to the priest again. "Maybe Brock wasn't quite the nice guy he wanted you to believe he was, Father. But he's managed to leave a good man feeling guilty."

Father Charlie nodded thoughtfully. ""Maybe the truth's somewhere in between," he said. As Gibbs raised an eyebrow, he went on, "Yeah, yeah, I'm young, how can I know anything? No, I've not been in the position of having to kill an enemy to save a friend... but I was in the army, and I'm not stupid, and I've seen things, and talked to people who've done things... You remember your friend's still alive," he went on to Tony. "Brock didn't suffer, and he died at peace. You at least gave him time to make his confession. I'd say things happen for a purpose, but not many people believe me... I'll say good night then," he gave them a huge, cheeky departing grin, "And may God bless you." The door closed behind him.

For a moment, nobody moved or spoke.

Finally, Gibbs went for practicality. "So... is there a lead anywhere in all that, d'ya think? Plenty to pass on to Jinny Lasz, but do we have a _lead_?"

"We can find out who employed him as a bodyguard," Tim murmured, beginning to take a more lively interest in things.

"'The boss is a shadow'," Ziva quoted. "'A clever man who hides his cleverness.' Someone who can maintain an 'iron grip' from the shadows has to have some foolproof way of keeping his people afraid, and obedient."

Tim, wide awake by now, mused, "If the guy who insists he was a good man until a few weeks ago has already killed someone, who? When, why... and did the shadowy boss frighten him into it?"

"How did he know all that about the boss?" Tony roused himself to add. "Had he met him? If he had, wouldn't he have said his name? If not, who's he associated with who would have told him? Who do we need to talk to?"

"Ackerman," Tim said flatly. "And maybe Swinson."

"Ziva 'n I'll do that," Gibbs said. Two mouths opened in protest. "You two rest up until I say otherwise," he silenced them. There might have been an argument, but the doctor who'd treated Tim entered at that moment with the kindly nurse who'd looked after Tony. He looked at the crowd, then shrugged and decided to ignore it.

"Mr. McGee," he said encouragingly, "Sarah's just going to change your dressing, and if there's no sign of infection in the wound, you can be discharged as soon as the IVs have run. But you mustn't be alone, because of residual weakness, and there's still the slight possibility of infection to be watched for."

Tim looked hopefully round. "Don't worry Tim, I have already spoken to Abby. She will be here as soon as she has finished processing the evidence – I imagine that will be before the bags are empty."

"Thanks, Ziva – did –"

"Do not worry; I explained that you were not badly hurt, but you would probably need marring... no, er... spoiling."

She gave up and supplied the correct word herself when Tony made no attempt to. She wondered if he was expecting to be spoiled, and if she ought to offer, but he'd stood up from the wheelchair, and was busy having some silent, glaring conversation with Gibbs. The Boss shook his head ruefully, and turned to her.

"Ziver, you OK to wait with Tim until Abby gets here, and she can give you a lift back to your car? Then ya go home and get some rest. We'll start afresh in the morning."

"That is not a problem, Gibbs. Although... do you not want to go and knock on Ackerman's door right now?"

"I thought about it, but nah..." He nodded over at Tony, who was talking quietly with Tim. "I think I need to make sure he behaves himself tonight."

Tony stood looking down at his partner quizzically. "So... did I actually hear you calling me a good man?"

Tim rolled his eyes in good natured resignation. "I knew I'd regret that... just didn't expect it to be so soon!"

The Italian's teasing smile faded, and the green eyes became sadder. He shook his head. "Just... I..." He hadn't a clue how to go on. "Thank you," he finally said softly.

"I should thank you..."

Tony was, predictably, too embarrassed to let him continue. "Hey – it's what we do... save each other... Gibbs, Ziva, you, me – get some rest, McGee... you won't get much once Abby gets here."

"I thought she was supposed to spoil me," Tim said plaintively.

"Well -"

"DiNozzo – you want a lift home or not?"

The drive was without Tony's usual chatter; he answered Gibbs cheerfully enough when he made the effort to speak, but the conversation would soon dwindle away again. They stopped at the Navy Yard so Gibbs could collect his own car; he settled Tony in it before hurrying off to fetch the promised painkillers; it didn't take long because he kept some in his desk, not that he'd tell Tony that. He suspected that the team was aware of his mother hen nature, not that any of them would ever say so.

They set off again; the silence was companionable enough, but silence just the same; Tony would loosen up in his own time... "Takin' ya at your word," the Boss finally said, as he swung the yellow Dodge onto the highway that led to Tony's district, not his own. "The beer 'n steak treatment's available if you want it, but I think you don't."

"Raincheck?" Tony asked. He sighed, but it was resignation, not misery. "I'll be OK, Boss... Father Charlie... I mean, _Father.._. should be Boy Charlie... Kid Charlie... anyway, I'll hang on to what he said. McGee's alive, that's the thing. Just need some time to myself."

They went on, and a few minutes later, Gibbs stopped the car outside Tony's apartment block. As the SFA wrapped an arm round his ribs ready to climb out of the car, Gibbs said, "Think about this... I came running... I was too far away to shoot; by the time I got near enough you'd already done exactly what I would have done. I saw... no cracks about glasses, DiNozzo, my long sight's just fine... I saw you steadying your right hand with your left – which was covered in blood. Your Sig was slick with it – Ziva cleaned it for you while the doctor was seeing you. Don't see how you could have got off a nice, steady shot, even if you could have seen straight. Sometimes you just have to do what's there to do. Sleep on it. Call me if you need to."

"Will do. Thanks, Boss." He eased carefully out of the car and headed into the building, trying not to think about anything at all until he had his front door closed to the world.. As he got nearer to it he began to hurry; his house phone was ringing, and he never was one for letting his phone ring...

"Tony? Oh, thank God. I've been calling for an hour - Tony, I couldn't reach you on your cell phone, I need -"

"Polly... sssh, love, it's OK... I forgot to switch it back on..." Fear clutched at him. _Lucy._.. he stayed calm with an effort. "Tell me what's wrong?"

Outside Gibbs pulled away, and stopped again a little way down the road. He watched the lights come on in Tony's pad, and waited a while longer, hoping to see them go off. Mother hen... What he saw next was his SFA racing out of the building again, to stand looking up and down the road. When no cruising taxi was obvious – it wasn't the sort of area where taxis cruised – he pulled out his cell phone. Gibbs gunned his engine, did a U turn and screeched to a halt, furious.

"DiNozzo, what the hell are you doing?"

Tony still hugged his ribs, and his breathing was heavy, but he was glacially calm. "Boss... either leave room for the taxi to pull up, or take me to the Hastings place. One way or another, I'm going."

"Get in." Gibbs thought the same thing Tony had. "Lucy?"

DiNozzo's answer left him incredulous. "No, Boss. They've let Arthur out of prison."

**AN: I had to bring him back... I'll try to update ASAP, but the end of term's going to be hectic!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I'm not sure what the legal procedure is for getting a retrial in the USA, but in the UK the person would certainly be released from prison once a mistrial was declared. Go with me, please? **

**Also, maybe Gibbs is a bit OTT in the first chunk; he certainly wonders if he is. Again, just go with the flow...**

**AND... If you haven't read 'The Rainbow Lake', you might have to dip into the last couple of chapters to understand some of this.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 7

Gibbs kept stealing sideways glances at Tony as he drove, trying not to make them too obvious. Any time the other man noticed, he'd manage a tight half-smile in acknowledgement; most of the time he was oblivious, watching the road being sucked up by the yellow snout of the Challenger as if staring at it would speed up their journey.

The senior agent usually found his SFA's fidgeting and chatter infuriating, or at least he made a good show of it; right now his stillness and silence was unbearable.

The fine bone structure that contributed so much to Tony's good looks any other time had a downside right now, he thought, taking yet another hurried glance at the profile of the younger man sitting rigidly beside him. His skin was drawn tight and pale, his high cheekbones pronounced above drawn hollows, the corner of his jaw prominent and carved in stone. Emotional turmoil and physical pain made stiff lines of the cords of his neck.

_Dammit, DiNozzo... _Gibbs made his tone non-confrontational, although he wanted to shake the guy till his teeth rattled, as he finally said, "Did you take any of those painkillers when you got home?"

Tony sighed. "Never even gave them a thought, Boss," he said honestly. "Don't worry, Patch'll fix it."

"They're in your pocket. The ones I fetched. Take a couple now." He passed a bottle of water across.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said in astonishment, and Gibbs could see he had no recollection of being handed them as he'd got out of the car outside his apartment. He watched as the SFA swallowed two down, took a swig of the water, and went back to willing the road to unwind.

Gibbs drove, and worried, sinking into a long train of thought that surprised him.

Tony would die to protect the Hastings family... OK, he'd die to protect a total stranger – Gibbs had memorably seen him risk that, stepping in between a serial killer and her intended victim, facing her gun, in a grimy sewer in Alexandria. But he'd die _willingly _to protect Polly, Patch and Lucy.

He'd _kill_ to protect them, as he'd killed to protect McGee, but that also held true for a stranger – Tony wouldn't hesitate any more than he would if the circumstances called for it, and that would include downing Patch's father to protect him... whatever the consequences might be to the friendship.

None of that was any surprise, and the Marine tried to pinpoint just what it was that _was_ bothering him. Tony loved the tiny girl they were rushing to see with all his heart, and that extended to her parents, the people who'd made her. He admired Polly, and felt close to her because of what they'd shared the night Lucy was born. He had a warm, easy-going friendship with Patch, who could have been jealous and possessive, but hadn't been; he'd welcomed Tony into their family like a brother, and more, a trusted godparent. This much Gibbs had observed, before Tony had ever talked about it on one of those nights when the steak and beer treatment had worked.

He unexpectedly found himself catapulted into an alternative reality, and his gut clenched. Tony... solitary in a way that Gibbs wasn't because he didn't _care _that he was lonely, since he couldn'thave the one thing that would change that_..._...who somehow, and the Boss couldn't actually think of a time where it had been his own_ fault,_ had never loved and won. He'd thought for a while that he'd found something with Ziva, and he would have set rule twelve aside for them if they'd made that choice, even though he might never have come round to believing himself that they were right for each other. Now the time for that had gone by... and Tony's only chance of family – outside what he currently had with the team, (and yes, he was very well aware of what that meant to his SFA) – seemed to be Lucy.

If Patch hadn't survived the kidnapping... Gibbs saw with absolute clarity what would have happened a year or two down the road. Tony would have appointed himself protector, and in the end set aside his own hopes of finding a soul-mate, to marry a woman whose heart was still largely with her dead husband, and look after her and her child. And just as he'd never thrown Rota in Gibbs' face, just as he'd never given up on his father after a lifetime of casual neglect, he'd have never looked back with regret.

It was deep regret for Tony's past, as much as anxiety for his future, that was weighing so heavily on Gibbs' mind, he realised. He'd felt for a long time that if he himself were to die on duty, he'd give it a year at most before Tony followed him; he was honoured and utterly horrified by the thought, and he'd hoped that Lucy had changed that somehow. He made a mental list: His mother, summer camps, Senior, Peoria, Philadelphia; Baltimore, Danny and Wendy; Kate, plague, Paula, Jeanne, Jenny, Ronald Reagan, Tel Aviv... he ground his teeth and made himself stop.

He almost growled as he pushed his thoughts towards the positive. Himself, surrogate father. Abby and McGee surrogate siblings. (In that role, he'd have to phone very soon to make sure that one of that terrible pair was making the other behave. He was grateful that his other kids, even Ziva, never seemed to make his gut lurch with fear the way Tony did...) Lucy, surrogate daughter. Polly, Patch and Ziva, strong and loyal friends that he'd earned in his own way. All of them, the closest the universe had ever come to cutting DiNozzo a break and giving him something more like what he deserved.

_Well, _he thought,_ best I can do... you can count me in until my dying day, DiNozzo, and I hereby promise to stay_ _alive for you. Not that I could ever tell you that. _

He let his breath out in an inaudible huff, seriously surprised at himself for the last – how many minutes? Tony said instantly, "You all right, Boss?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah. The painkillers are pretty fast acting."

That wasn't what Gibbs had meant, they both knew it, but it was all the answer he was going to get. They both knew that too... except, Tony had a conscience. "I'm fine to do this, Boss. I can cope physically, and my head's in the right place. You?" He clearly hadn't forgotten that sigh, that Gibbs had thought was so quiet.

Gibbs half smiled. "We've had damn all to do for a week. Now it's one thing after another. Can't we ever catch things simple?" He fished his phone out with one hand, hit speed dial, and nudged it onto speakerphone. It was Tim's number he called, then thought a moment later that maybe it should have been Abby he spoke to. He was about to disconnect when Tim answered.

"Boss? We've already pulled –"

"We? Where are you?"

"In the lab, Boss. Abby's opened up all the old evidence files, Ziva's brought the physical evidence up from the locker, I've been going into the court files, and –"

"You're supposed to be resting, McGee!"

There was a small pause, then – "Well, you took Tony home and made sure he went to bed, and now you're on your way home, right, Boss?" In the passenger seat of the Challenger, close enough to hear,Tony laughed, the first happy sound he'd made all night. "The ladies aren't letting me do much, but Polly called, trying to contact Tony, so we know what's going on, and _you _know there's no way we'd stay out of it. Even if we'd never met Lucy and her parents, we'd do it for Tony – don't laugh, DiNozzo – "

"Not laughing, McGee. Just take it easy,OK?"

"About as easy as you, Tony."

Gibbs sighed. He'd have expected nothing less; he should have known they'd find out, and he'd have to have involved them sooner or later anyway, but he knew their reaction had nothing to do with how he'd trained them to anticipate – it was simply how they were. "So, what can you tell us?"

"Well... can't give you a short version here, Boss, OK? It seems the review judge was persuaded to look again at some aspects of the trial; the spoken evidence more than the physical stuff; apparently doubt was cast on Gary's testimony because he was already going down for murder and wanted to bargain, and on Sunny's testimony, simply because she was so young, and she admitted she'd been in a highly stressed state at the time."

"And?" Gibbs voice was hard enough to show he was holding himself in; you don't shoot the messenger. Tim was grateful.

"Did Hastings strike Polly, or did she trip? Was she sure the winch had been used to pull the house down? How did she know the two agents hadn't brought the house down by entering it? By the time help arrived Hastings was tied up in the cable, it wasn't attached to the jacks. Hastings had physical evidence that he'd been assaulted. She didn't like him –"

Gibbs and Tony both began to talk at once, hot with indignation.

"Boss! Tony! Most of this we can refute – if the house had simply fallen down, for instance, the pillar jacks would have been buried in it, or lying beside it. The crime scene photos show them by the truck, where the winch cable pulled them before Sunny unhitched them, and there are marks of the cable in their paintwork, and on the Ridgeline. Abby's going over all that. We can refute a lot – "

"How much more is there?" Gibbs still stayed calm.

"Lots of tiny little things, the lawyers must have been scraping the barrel. You can look it all over as soon as you get back here. But the main thing is, they've thrown doubt on the assault on me and Tony, and the assault on Polly, and... the kidnapping."

"What?" Tony's exclamation was incredulous, and choked off as he moved too fast and it hurt.

"Thought _you_ said take it easy, Tony. Hastings says Sunny volunteered to go with him to find the painting, and had to take Lucy, because Polly couldn't look after her, so that's not kidnapping. When asked why he didn't help Polly instead, he said he didn't know how and he was scared of being blamed, so they've still got him on that at least, but it was enough for the reviewing judge to declare a mistrial. The lawyers intend – and they won't succeed – but they want to get him off on all the charges except the conspiracy and abandoning Polly, and they want him to be sentenced to time served and parole."

"A mistrial," Tony said heavily.

"Couple more things, Tony." Tim's voice was careful as it emerged tinnily from Gibbs' phone, by now in the younger man's hand. "I asked myself why anyone would even want to get a jerk like Hastings out of prison, and then I remembered where I'd seen Swinson before. I'm kicking myself... although, honestly, I only saw him the once, outside the courtroom while I was waiting to give my evidence; he left most of the trial to his junior..."

"His junior... that snake was Hastings' lawyer. Wouldn't you just know it." Tony was stunned.

"He has to be up to something. Ziva and I'll go and talk to him," Tim went on reassuringly, but Gibbs cut in.

"No, you won't. I'm assuming you've kept Kath's team up to date?

"Sure, Boss."

"Good. Ziva, you there?"

"I am here, Gibbs. I will go with one of Lieutenant Wigg's people."

"Good. McGee, you stay with Abby. Look at refuting things, like you said, and when Abs says rest, you rest. Good work, all of you." He disconnected before anyone could reply.

"Coincidence, Boss?" Tony asked tiredly.

Gibbs snorted. "You know the answer to that one. You and Tim have been saying 'iceberg' for weeks now; must admit though, McGee's right. How does Hastings fit into all this? Who'd possibly want him?"

Tony pursed his lips thoughtfully. Gibbs was very glad that they'd spoken to the younger agent; it had given DiNozzo something more to think about than the road in front of him. "We find out where he is," he said. "That should be easy enough; he's awaiting retrial, he can't go to ground. We find out what he knows... that'll be easy too, cuz all you have to do is needle him a bit and he shoots his mouth off without regard for the consequences."

Gibbs nodded. "Whoever sprung him needs him for something; they'll know what he's like, so he'll have been told nothing."

"This shadowy bossman... he won't have a clue who he is."

He sighed, and Gibbs grunted, as they turned up the winding road to Sandybacks.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Thorley Swinson had caught something by the tail. It could never have been described as a tiger, the man didn't have the courage for that; Swinson would have been more inclined to think of a screeching gibbon but for the man's bulk, but whatever he was, he was stuck with him – for the time being at least.

"Are you going to damn well listen to me?" His urbane attorney style had been abandoned in favour of something more forceful. "_I _got you out. _You're _going to get yourself straight back in there if you don't do as you're told."

"You telling me what to do? You want me to take advice from a goddamn lawyer?"

Swinson turned sharply back from the window he'd been glaring through, and Hastings, as expected, took a step back. "No, I'm not giving you advice, I'm giving you an instruction. The boss wanted you out, he has work for you, your line of business... like I told you, you'll be paid well if you DO AS YOU'RE TOLD. I say, stay here, don't move from this hotel room, I shan't be long. Don't touch the phone. And what do you do? Start phoning round all – "

"I wanted to talk to my wife. Hell, can't a man do that? All I wanted – "

"Your ex-wife. Who doesn't want to talk to you." He'd tried to be considerate, but he really wasn't bothered any more after half a day in the man's company. "Which is why she changed her name and moved away. So you try intimidating her friends into telling you where she is. Then of all the stupid things, you phone your son. And make threats."

"How in tarnation do you know that?"

"Because, you damn fool, I bugged the phone. I was afraid you'd try something like this!"

""You spied on me? You two-bit shyster cheap – "

"D'you want this job? D'you want to stay out of prison? Do you not understand you're out on bail? Which my boss put up since you're broke?"

That wasn't strictly true; his partners in the construction business, glad to be rid of him, had willingly bought him out. Some of the money had gone to Anne, Patch's mother at the time of the divorce, but some remained in an account so that Arthur would have something when his sentence was complete. Swinson had told him that was unavailable until the retrial was over. Not strictly true, but Ziva had been right when she said that the boss had to have foolproof methods for keeping his people in order. "Stay away from your son – you can bet there's an injunction in place by now, thanks to your phone call, to make you do just that. Stay away from damn well everybody until I tell you it's OK."

He was smaller than Hastings, but he took a chance and got in his face. "Because if you don't, it won't be me you have to answer to. And the best you could hope for then would be to end up back in prison."

Hastings sat heavily on the edge of the hotel bed, making the springs twang, and for once, said nothing. Swinson turned back to the window. The mythical big boss was an excellent contrivance; he could do all the things _he_ couldn't, and take all the responsibility. He'd dealt with the judge, hadn't he? The poor sap had been in his pocket for a whole month before he'd needed to know it, but he knew now...

_Thorley Swinson was an opportunist. He'd known what he'd assembled in his bid to spring Hastings was borderline at best; approaching the original judge was hopeless, His Honour wouldn't have entertained releasing Hastings for a moment, so he'd applied for another judge to review the case. _

_He'd picked Benjamin Preston because he'd heard he didn't immediately have you arrested if you offered him an incentive, but the issue had never arisen. He'd sat there in Judge Preston's office, made welcome, cup (fine French Porcelain) of tea in hand, and taken a deep breath to outline his case, when the judge's secretary had entered the room. They spoke briefly in low voices, and then Preston had grumbled, "Thorley, you'll have to excuse me for a moment while I deal with this. Don't disturb yourself, I'll be right back."_

_He sat looking round the room at all the things that spoke of success. His eyes lingered venomously on the steel and green glass desk; the judge clearly preferred modern to seasoned oak. On the left were opaque glass drawers, on the right, a ladder rack of open shelves. He didn't know what drew his eyes to the folder on the second shelf down; but once noticed, he couldn't keep his eyes away from it. A photograph stuck awkwardly out of it; the judge, and a young woman. He could only see them down to eye level, but the judge's head was turned in slightly, as if he were kissing the girl. Now... this could be his favourite niece of course..._

_By the time the judge returned, the opportunistic Swinson had three splendidly incriminating images of three young ladies who couldn't all have been favourite nieces, and a judge, (married,) whose intentions towards them couldn't have been clearer, stored on his cellphone._

_He'd put his case when Preston had returned: "I feel as if I let the man down, Benjamin, because he's really not likeable. I didn't try hard enough. I need to make amends for my profession's sake."_

_The judge had made sympathetic noises and asked him to come back in a month. "It'll take me all of that time to try to make a case for this, Thorley."_

_A month later, Judge Preston had still been unsure – until a glance at the large, colour prints that Swinson had brought with him had changed his mind. He'd blustered, but only a little, mention of Swinson's 'powerful client' had convinced him. Two days later, Arthur Hastings was out of jail._

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Lucy had just been bathed and fed, and was content and sleepy; Patch and Polly weren't letting any of their anxiety communicate itself to their daughter. Tony had barely enough time for a brief cuddle before Polly took her to settle her down. She came back a short time later, by which time Patch had made coffee and put a pizza in the oven, but nobody had spoken much.

"She's asleep," she said. " I would have let her stay up a bit longer, but... I know it's silly, she doesn't understand yet, but I really don't want her to hear any of this."

"Nothing silly about it," Gibbs said. He pointed to a couple of half-packed cases on the dining table. "You don't have to go," he said. "We can protect you here – not that I think he's got the guts to do anything."

Patch smiled sadly. "It's not that... I'd shoot him myself if he tried to hurt my girls," and only Gibbs knew what those words did to Tony. "But Mom's hysterical. She's gone to stay with a neighbour tonight, but first thing in the morning, we've got to go to her. Dad doesn't know where she is – she took on her mother's maiden name and moved to Kentucky. We've got this... cloak and dagger plan to leave before daylight, in Spence from next door's car, while he drives mine in the opposite direction. We don't really think we'll be followed, but..." He trailed off, feeling foolish.

"There's never any harm in being careful," Gibbs reassured him.

"Dad phoned one of her friends, demanding to know where she was. She didn't tell him, but she called Mom, who freaked, not surprisingly; and then called us. So at least we had some warning."

"Warning of what?"

"We decided not to answer the phone," Polly said, "But we'd let the answering machine cut in, then pick up once we knew who it was." Her hand shook as she pressed the 'play' button.

_'Patch? You there? Gah... when were you ever... this is your father. That's right, your Dad. Who you couldn't be bothered to get out of prison. Well someone else did, boy, I'm a free man, and I want what's mine. You hear? Where's your mother? She's got things of mine that I need, and I want to know why she was so keen to run out on me. Never gave me a chance. None of you gave me a chance. I want what's mine. My money. My house. You can't keep them from me. They're mine. And all the people who took things from me are gonna to pay for it The people who sent me to prison are gonna to pay for it. You're all gonna pay, ya hear me? You bunch of conniving thieves – you owe me! You're gonna pay!'_

**AN: Well, Arthur's back...let me know what you think - please?**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Sigh... I've not posted in a week, and here we are, another filler. Well, I can't keep the whump coming all the time...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 8

For a while there was complete silence, heavy and painful. Finally, Patch broke it. "It's all hot air," he said bleakly. "We all know my Dad's a coward. A complete coward. He threatens and blusters, but he won't _do_ anything." He fell silent again, his face stiff with misery.

Fortunately, neither he nor Polly was practised in reading Gibbs and Tony's silent conversations. As she reached for her husband's hands and squeezed them, and he put his head on her shoulder, they didn't see the look that flicked between the two agents. Hastings _alone_ couldn't do anything, but who was he mixed up with? And why? Predictably, it was Tony who hastened to reassure them. "No, you're right. But even so, I'd feel a lot happier if you were on that plane to Kentucky in the morning. If he came here... well, whatever, we don't want him anywhere near you."

He tapped the call log button on the answering machine, and wrote the number down. A few moments later he had the location from Abby. "Motel, Boss. Scranton – about halfway between here and Ogdensburg Prison."

"Is that where he is? Scranton?" Polly glanced nervously at the door.

"No," Gibbs said honestly. "He'll have moved as soon as he used his brain enough to know we could trace that number. I doubt he could get here by morning, whatever transport he's using, but we're going to stay here tonight anyway, and we'll get you on the plane tomorrow. You don't want to involve Spence, not now we're here. Did you book in your own names?"

Patch managed a brief smile. "No... we've been around Tony long enough to have thought of that. We're the Kidd family. Patch – pirate – yeah? And we're flying to Louisville, then we'll get a shuttle back to Lexington – you don't have to pre-book." He grinned awkwardly. "It 's not so much for us... and I'm not scared of him... it's for Mom. She's so much happier, and she never wants to have anything more to do with him. With... my Dad." His smile disappeared abruptly. "I have to make sure she knows he can never find her."

"What about the things he says he wants?"

"There aren't any. If he listened to his lawyer, he'd know. The house was sold; his share of the money, the buy-out and everything – what he agreed to, Mom wasn't greedy and he sure won't starve – is in a bank account administered _by_ his bank. He agreed that they should do it. I have no idea how he's supposed to access it, that's between him and them; there's no way I can help. The things he wanted to keep from the house, clothes, everything," he sighed, "Mom really didn't want much... they're in a storage facility in Arkansas, he agreed to that too. He knows all that, he has the address. Or he knew it when he signed the agreements. He doesn't listen; he only remembers what he wants to."

He sighed. "No-one could ever accuse him of using common sense. I don't know what he thinks he's going to do when we finally do meet... I've tried to stand by him, but I'm not inclined to put up with his antics, and I'm not letting him anywhere near the girls."

Gibbs nodded. "Both of you," he said, "Get some sleep. You too, Tony. I'll take first watch."

"Boss -"

"Do as he says, DiNozzo," Polly said wearily. "You think we haven't noticed you're the colour of chalk? And _quiet_? I'm not even going to ask."

Tony just grinned back. Inside it was a different matter. _Good. Don't, dear Pol, because you don't want to know, and I sure don't want to tell you._

She patted his shoulder. "Whatever... I'm glad you're here, in spite of whatever it is you've been up to."

He sat innocently down on the couch, and pulled the cushions towards him, but as soon as the couple left the room, he got up again, and crossed to where Gibbs was checking the window catches. His voice was low and urgent. "Boss..." There was something he knew about Hastings that he'd not passed on to anyone yet.

Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder; that always seemed to steady Tony, and held up a finger. "I _know_, Tony. Things are getting intense, and we're not much closer to knowing the whole picture than we were the day all this started." He pulled out his phone. "Get some sleep. We'll see the family safely away, and talk to everyone in the morning."

Tony stood his ground, looking mistrustfully at the phone.

Gibbs rolled his eyes, and tapped the keys. "Abby? Are the other two with you? Is McGee OK? Mmm. Stop what you're doing, all of you. Get some sleep. Yeah, we're fine. Going to be busy tomorrow though. Abs... tell me in the morning. Nothing we can do about anything right now. Get some rest." Click. He raised his eyebrows._ Satisfied? _

Tony smiled wryly. Gibbs was right, it would keep. He went back to the couch, kicked his shoes off and lay down very carefully, burying his head in the cushions. Gibbs went round the rooms checking windows and doors, including Lucy's room where she snuffled contentedly, stopping to watch her for a while. Then he went to the back door, opened it silently, and sat down on the step. He took the phone out again. "Hello, Kath..."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The sky was beginning to lighten, in an unenthusiastic, bleary way, as Thorley Swinson reached the outskirts of Washington. The weather forecast had said cloudy, with intermittent showers, and the grey cast to the dawn light seemed to agree with that prediction. The unattractive snoring of the large man in the passenger seat of the Jaguar added to Swinson's inner mix of anger and frustration.

Hastings was a liability. Swinson was a smart and shrewd man, and that wasn't just his own assessment; he was furious that his shrewdness hadn't been able to predict _this_. The man was a weird mixture of business acumen and bovine stupidity; and absolutely incapable of doing as he was told, even when it was clearly in his own best interests.

Swinson's plan had been to set him up as the head, or at least figurehead of a construction business, amalgamating all the interests currently run by his four – no, three cohorts, Kenyon, Da Silva and Flammand, who were getting in over their heads, and better suited to the application of coercion. Upwards of five hundred houses, and as soon as he had more land there'd be more... he was on the way to being a millionaire, and this idiot couldn't see that a part of that was his for the taking. At least, until he sent him back to prison, that was... Swinson didn't intend for him to see that bit of the picture until it was far too late. He'd at least needed to have him take over Ackerman's projects now, but he couldn't even trust him with that. Shame about Ackerman...

He'd heard Brock grumbling about his mother's old, bulky SUV, and that gave him an idea.

Ackerman was making too many mistakes... The organic dairy wasn't ever going to be a suitable target because planning permission had already been granted for another small organic food plant to be built next door. He'd hired crew on one site who were nothing but a gang of thieves. He hadn't checked that Caroline Yorke would be alone when they visited, he'd lost it and threatened her, and now the law had seen his face. Worse, they'd seen his own face, and the one thing he wanted to stay was unseen.

_He'd powered up the laptop he used for one purpose only. (He called it BB, as in Big Boss, and smiled thinly at his own joke. He seldom indulged in levity, it was a waste of time, but this machine was the head of his little empire.) It was the only way, except for his own visible role as a mouthpiece, that the 'Boss' communicated with his men. "Take the old car," he'd had Da Silva instruct Brock. "It's OK, if you wreck it the Boss says I can buy you a new one. I'll call Ackerman and send him out to the site at Burke Lake, and I want you to give him a real scare on that steep forest road."_

"_You... you mean, run him off the road, Mr. Da Silva?"_

"_That's what he asked me to tell you. You want to go on working for him, don't you? He's a good Boss... who else would help you to get your mother's house sold so quickly so you can return home to South Africa?"_

"_Er..." still reluctantly, "yeah. Yeah." _

It had been easy; he'd told Da Silva that simply stressing what the man wanted most would ensure his co-operation. When his henchman had emailed to say Brock had called later and stuttered almost incoherently that Ackerman's Tahoe had disappeared down a ravine and been swallowed up, he'd simply mailed back, 'Tell him call Swinson.' He'd been outwardly soothing, _"Da Silva told me what happened. It's OK. Just do nothing, it'll be fine, go to your job as usual," _inside he'd been elated. Problem solved, and once again, no-one could trace it back to him.

He glanced to his right, screwing up his face in disgust as Hastings made a sound between a gargle and a snort. Now this problem... The oaf wasn't even grateful that he was out of prison; seemed to take it as his right. He couldn't be trusted an inch to co-operate... the more he thought about it, the more angry he became at the size of the mistake he'd made. He was tempted to open the car door and just heave the man out in the middle of nowhere and wash his hands of him, but although anyone Hastings might complain to would understand exactly why, and Swinson knew he could easily talk his way out of trouble, it would be drawing yet more attention to himself. Things were _not_ going according to plan.

He had to be at his desk at 8.30 am as if nothing had happened; he was pretty certain he'd receive a visit from NCIS sooner rather than later, so his unwanted package had to be found a shelf somewhere. After a while he pulled up outside Angela Brock's house, woke Hastings without ceremony and hustled him inside. 8.00 am; the construction workers would be on site by now, he was counting on Brock to be back to stop Hastings from taking off somewhere, and where the hell was the man?

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Tony hadn't been surprised when he woke, to find he hadn't moved, at 6.30 am. He had been, and somehow hadn't been, surprised to hear low voices from the rear of the house; Gibbs... and Kath Wigg. He rose carefully, very carefully, with an arm wrapped round his middle, and padded out towards the back garden in his socks. Kath and Gibbs were sitting side by side on the back door stoup, and Tony knew better than to attempt the impossible by sneaking up on the Marine.

"Morning Boss, Kath," he said quietly as they looked round. "You said you'd take first watch, not the lot," he added accusingly.

Gibbs shrugged. "I'll sleep when I need it," he said unconcernedly. "You get enough?"

Tony could be just as non-committal. "I got what was available. I'll be fine." He'd stopped, listening as two things happened at once. An alarm clock beeped in one bedroom, and a baby giggled in another. Tony was through the door instantly, and emerged a few moments later, exchanging sappy, doting grins with his god-daughter.

It hadn't seemed any time at all, he reflected sadly, before they were escorting the family right onto the aircraft for the flight to Kentucky, and he'd wondered when they'd meet again.

Now they sat in Jeanette's domain; a room that usually seemed quite spacious – but with almost two teams and Abby there, and even the window-ledge commandeered for seating, maybe that wasn't quite the right word any more. The one missing person entered; Ollie, staggering under the weight of breakfast, and everyone fell on the contents of the box he carried. Gibbs waited with barely, no, Tony thought, _un_concealed impatience, but an army marches on its stomach...

"So," he finally said heavily. "What have we got?"

Ziva nodded at Roy Fordham. "We went to Swinson's home, intending to ask him what he knew of the 'shadowy boss' that Brock spoke of, and what had prompted him to work for Arthur Hastings' release from prison. He was not there; it was late but we wondered if he was still working, so we went to his offices. He was not there either; we will try again this morning. We also need to find out if he has any idea of Hastings' whereabouts. We have put out a BOLO on Hastings, but we have no idea of what he is driving."

Roy held up a hand to forestall the next question. "Yes, we did call the Scranton motel; they 'knew nothing'. Local LEOs have gone to pick up any security film they can; they'll get it to us for Abby, ASAP."

All eyes went to the forensic scientist, but she shook her head. "Hey... don't look at me! I'd had no physical evidence since the air rifles until I got what Brock attacked you guys with. Fingerprints were his. End of story. I'm just here to keep an eye on McGee."

It was Kath's turn. She said irritablyly, "Ollie and I spent most of the evening trying to track down Ackerman, with no luck. There's a BOLO out on him as well. The next thing's to talk to the other three guys that Jinny identified; the problem is, unless we dig deeper, maybe, we've got nothing that would stand up in court to accuse them of. Where threats were made, no witnesses. Where damage was done, ditto. Everywhere we look, asses have been covered. And we're having to do all this in our spare time, in between cases."

"Except for me," Jinny said happily, the most cheerful person in the room, and Ollie gave his two co-conspirators a grateful grin. "I'm officially still on sick-leave," his wife went on gleefully, so I can work as much as I want." She held up a finger, and went into a lecture. "Now, class... I have identified – ah, forget it." She went back to being Jinny. "I looked at the seven – that's _seven,_ guys – someone stands to make a fortune – construction sites that those four lovelies are already operating; in every case it's houses that are going up; in every case there _was_ a small business there. It may be worthwhile seeing if any of the owners of those businesses are willing to talk about why they sold up. I think they may have been easy to intimidate; there's no record that I can find of any of them having made a complaint to the police."

There was a murmur of agreement. "Nice work, Jinny," Kath said.

Tim straightened in his chair, and cleared his throat loudly. "And I," he said with the most smug grin he could muster, "have found someone who_ is _willing to talk."

That got everyone's attention.

"Father Charlie mentioned sabotage to an organic dairy," Tim began.

"Dang," Tony said. "I heard him say that, and I just forgot with everything else that was going on."

"You and me both, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled.

Tim grinned. "I found it, well, Chris Coppi did, it's in Virginia. He was actually about to send the file over when I called him. I spoke to the owner last night; he said he'd not been bothered for a couple of weeks now, and the land next door had been bought to start another organic food business. He'd spoken to the owners of that and they hadn't been bothered at all. Looks like the heavies gave up because they couldn't take them both on. Anyway, the guy's very willing to tell us what he knows, and when I said I couldn't drive just now, he said he'd come over this morning."

"Hmm," Gibbs said with grumpy pride, "Good work, McGee."

Everyone thought for a few minutes, then Kath said thoughtfully, "So – we've got the Prime Real Estate thing," she made quotation signs, "and we've got Hastings senior. Are they connected by anything other than the coincidence of the same lawyer?"

Tony frowned. "Gibbs doesn't believe in coincidence. "Apparently he survived in prison by toadying to some fairly heavy guys -"

"You been checking on him, DiNozzo?"

"Yes, Boss." Tony was matter-of-fact. He was pretty certain that Gibbs knew, cuz Gibbs knew everything, that he regularly checked on an assortment of jailbirds with possible grudges against team members, and hell, he knew that Gibbs knew there wasn't much he wouldn't do for Lucy. "That's what I was going to tell you last night. I still think he's not man enough to act alone, or be one of Shadow Boss's heavies though." His voice had a chill to it, for all that his words were light. "Well, we find the old windbag and ask him."

"_We_, DiNozzo? Is that the royal 'we'?" Kath asked severely. "You let the able-bodied ones do the finding."

Tony gave her the slow sideways sort of glance that always made Ziva feel twitchy. "I _am_ able-bodied, Kath," he purred.

"I might have believed you if I hadn't spent _most _of the night talking to your Boss," she replied in the same tone, which made Tony grin, Gibbs look inscrutable, and everyone else fidget as badly as poor Ziva.

The Israeli spoke reprovingly. "_Before_ Roy and I take ourselves off in search of missing lawyers, I should like to know what we intend to do next. I do not think from what has been said so far that we should still be doing this in our spare time."

"Agreed," Gibbs said. "I'll talk to Vance."

"I'll talk to the Chief," Kath agreed.

"McGee and I -"

"Will stay at your desks, Tony." The younger man, opening his mouth to protest, was stilled, as Gibbs knew he would be, by the use of his first name. "See if you can raise any of those owners that Jinny found, and get anything out of them."

Tony nodded, although he wanted to argue the toss further. He looked across at Tim, remembering how the younger agent had had to gingerly straighten up before he spoke. McGee was in just as crumpled and second-hand a state as he was himself, and he knew he couldn't expect his friend to take it easy if _he_ wouldn't. Gibbs saw the glance, and looked at Tony. His eyes said _Good. Look after him and you'll look after yourself._ Aloud, he said, "Come on. I'll take you guys back to base. Then I'll find Hastings for you, DiNozzo."

Tony sighed. "Don't damage him, Boss. I want to do that."

"Sure."

They were all about to troop out of the room when Jinny's desk phone shrilled. "Jeanette Cadogan... Hi, Chris..." She listened for a while, with only the odd 'Mmm', said goodbye and disconnected. "Chris Coppi, if you hadn't realised. Gasoline flowing into Burke Lake... they followed it upstream. Found a Tahoe in the bottom of a gully, plunged a hundred feet down from the road, registered to a Victor Ackerman. Ackerman inside it, very dead."

**TBC... **


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Very grateful thanks to Angel of Clay for leading me through USA planning permit land. Bless you, gal!**

**Clampers may be a Brit. expression – at any rate it's a rude word over here.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 9

Many phone calls took place that morning; some that the 'Gibbswiggs' team (Abby's word; everyone else winced,) were aware of and some they weren't.

Swinson called Flammand, ordered up two heavies to come and stop Hastings from taking off, and paced agitatedly, interrupted periodically by Hastings' foul mouthed grumbling, until they arrived.

"Just shut up, Arthur... if you'd done as you were told, you'd really be a free man now... but here I am, trying to protect you from yourself and you've not been out of jail twenty-four hours. You do realise you've already done something they could re-arrest you for? I'll tell you what, I'll just turn you loose and see how long it takes before they find you, shall I?" Hastings subsided again, for a while at least. Swinson was well aware, because he'd had a cop who owed him find out, that Neil Hastings hadn't made a complaint against his father, but the detestable old bully didn't need to know that. He turned away and busied himself with other things so that Hastings didn't see his smile. There wasn't much that made Swinson smile, but this was most enjoyable.

The lawyer also informed Flammand and Kenyon of what Da Silva already knew; with Ackerman gone, their work-load would increase, since they'd have to take his projects between them. Something else Da Silva knew – not to mention his part in Ackerman's death to anyone.

The lawyer grew more agitated when someone from the employment agency rang to tell him that the night watchman to whom he'd been giving occasional day work had been shot by the police yesterday evening, and was there a relative he should give the paycheck to? He waited until he got to work, and used one of an assortment of unregistered cell phones to call his tame police officer. No, not the police, he was told. NCIS – again! DiNozzo and McGee – _again! _ He would have been more anxious still if the cop had known, and been able to tell him anything of the confession to Father Charlie, but he didn't.

(Not much later, the employment agency received a call from NCIS, yes, Maxwell Brock had been on their books, they'd be happy to help if someone came to see them. If she'd received that call first, the agency manager reflected, she might have mentioned it to the attorney, but she didn't think it necessary to call him back. He was just the man's lawyer.)

He'd no sooner ended that callthan another of his cells buzzed. He looked at it with distaste, but he really couldn't afford to ignore this person. "You are just the mouthpiece," he reminded himself and took a deep breath. Congressman Norman White had gone to considerable trouble behind the scenes to persuade the authorities in three counties that having larger capacity sewers, water mains and power lines was a good thing, not the bad thing that local people thought, especially those living close to the patch of heathland at Holt, a tiny community near Conklin. The hamlet had got its name because there had always been a badger population there; people had protested that this could mean the end of them, but who was bothered about a few badgers? Certainly not the authorities...

(While the services remained minimal the amount of building that could be done was almost zero; it wasn't a particularly beautiful area, it was rough and shaggy, but it was free, open space. The locals who loved it, children, horse riders, cyclists, dog walkers, and just plain walkers, watched the new mains going in with despair.)

Congressman White was civil, but insistent. The work was being done; he'd kept up his end of the deal; why did Swinson's boss insist on hiding behind his lawyer, and when was he going to get his $100,000? Swinson explained that all the money that had been made so far was being ploughed into the next phase of the scheme, (which wasn't completely untrue, but White didn't need to know about the several hundred thousand dollars he'd already salted away,) and since he was being patient, why couldn't the Congressman?

So far, in pockets all over DC, Maryland and Virginia, sufficiently far apart and small to stay under the radar of environmental groups or crusading journalists, there were plans for 2,000 houses, not including the 200 already built, or the 500 that were under construction. If the Congressman's help were needed again, then in the end there would be more money... He stressed that remaining unnoticed was the key to success, and managed to keep talking to him long enough for the man to forget he'd wanted to see the boss. When he put the phone down his hands were trembling slightly.

It was a phase, he told himself. There'd been times before when things hadn't gone smoothly, and he'd got a handle on them every time. This was no different. He squashed the whisper down that said _NCIS... there wasn't NCIS before..._

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Chris Coppi called to let Tony know that the initial examination of Ackerman's body had suggested that the crash had killed him, and to ask who should do the autopsy. Ducky was happy for the Virginia coroner to do it, she was a woman he trusted, and it could be completed earlier.

Chris also confirmed that his tracking expert had found all the signs they might expect of one vehicle forcing another off the road.

"He found signs that the other driver had tried earlier, where the bank wasn't so steep, and there weren't so many trees, but Ackerman managed to stay on the road.; if he'd gone off there, he'd probably have survived with no more than a wrecked car and a scare. Too bad... the other guy tried again a few hundred yards down the road... sure got him that time. We'll take measurements and all the rest of it – I'll send our findings to Jinny. D'you want the Tahoe? It's got the other vehicle's paint on, mid-blue, non metallic..."

Tony called Jinny to update her, and Abby to let her know to expect a wreck, and sat, hunched over his aching ribs, fretting to himself.

Patch called to say they'd picked up a rental at Lexington and were on their way to his mother's house. That was good to hear, but it didn't ease the nagging unease in Tony's mind, so it must be something else. But what?

The owner of the organic dairy called to say he was on his way; Tony introduced himself, and apologised that Special Agent McGee wouldn't be able to meet him personally, being polite and charming down the phone while glaring at his friend's desk.

It really didn't help to be sitting here when even Tim had gone in the end; there was so much to do. It was important for Ziva and Roy to go in search of the lawyer; it was also important to see if the employment agency knew anything useful.

There were also the three remaining 'construction managers' to speak to, and they felt that it might be important to do that first. If a visit to the lawyer made him wary, it was logical to assume he'd talk to the shadowy boss, who'd warn all three heavies to close ranks and have their stories ready. Ziva and Roy took Kenyon, since Jinny's research had found that his area was closest to Swinson's offices in Arlington, Kath and Ollie took Flammand, which left Gibbs alone to see Da Silva. "Oh, no," the whole of Gibbswigg had chorused, and Tony had started to rise from his chair.

"No, ya don't, DiNozzo. I said desk."

"Boss, you can't go alone."

"DiNozzo," exasperated, "I can handle a heavy or two."

"I know, Boss. But the last guy_ I _handled on this case wasn't a heavy, he was a street lawyer. You need a witness!"

"I'll go, Tony." The Senior Field Agent opened his mouth to protest, but Tim went on, "I haven't got a broken rib -"

"Two!"

"Whatever... and I _have_ had more sleep than you. Gibbs'll -"

"Gibbs'll go by himself, McGee, just sit down, dammit." The exasperation level in the Marine's voice was rising, but the glance that passed between Tony and Tim suggested that it was because he knew he was losing the battle. They were right, and Gibbs knew it. "Ah... the hell... come on, then."

"Drive carefully, Boss, don't break Timmy, now." Gibbs had snorted, and everyone had left a grumpy DiNozzo behind to sulk.

A call he'd made to Oldenburg was returned. He'd asked how Arthur Hastings had left the prison, and was told he'd been driven away by his lawyer. He wasn't surprised. Back to Swinson again.

Jinny rang to say that the tapes from the Scranton motel were useless; cameras had whole areas they didn't cover, and weren't always switched on anyway. Tony wondered if Swinson had chosen that motel because he knew that was the case, and decided it was one of those questions that knowing the answer to made no difference; the lawyer could always turn round and say that of course he would take someone just out of prison to a place where he could feel he wasn't being watched. The point was, where the hell was Arthur now?

He sighed, which wasn't wise, as the sudden huff of breath hurt his ribs. That made him think of steel pipe and reebar, and his eyes flew wide open. _It's got the other vehicle's paint on, mid-blue, non-metallic... _He grabbed the phone and called the railway bridge site foreman at New York Avenue.

Yes, he was told, there _was_ an old Ford parked just outside the entrance. Mid blue, with damage to the near-side wing. It had been there when he arrived. (Tony knew, he'd noticed it yesterday. You couldn't _not _notice damage like that – and if it hadn't moved, the odds were it was Brock's car. Tony knew it anyway.) The foreman added that he thought he'd seen it before, but he'd never taken much notice. A couple of clampers had been eyeing it hopefully, although the foreman didn't see that anyone would want to reclaim such an old shed. "Don't let them near it," Tony told him urgently. "I'll send a tow truck for it as soon as possible."

"Sure. Hey... does it belong to the guy who got shot -"

"Thanks," Tony said, and hung up pretending he hadn't heard.

So... they had Brock's car and Ackerman's, and when they arrived he'd go down and help Abby. He liked to keep the interior of his car nice, because you never knew who your passenger might be, but he really hoped that wasn't the case with those two. Maybe they'd find something useful. In the meantime, he had the earnest owner of an organic dairy to talk to.

While he was waiting for Mr. Gates to arrive, a young man from HR dropped a package off. "Adie sent it, it was handed in at the front door. He asked me to bring it up cuz Gibbs told him you were chained to your desk and not to let you out of the building. He says he's checked it for white powder."

Tony swatted at him with the package; it hurt his ribs _and_ his hand, so it was a pretty feeble attempt. "Get out of here, Darren. And thanks. I think."

He rang down to Adie, his pal the security guard. "OK, turncoat... I thought you were my friend."

"I am... as long as Gibbs isn't threatening me."

"Ha. This package..."

"Dropped off by a lady who said she managed an employment agency. Says she won't be around the office cuz she's off for the rest of the day at a recruitment drive, but her number's in there if you need to ask her anything. It's everything she has on Maxwell Brock, except his last unpaid wages. She was going to give them to a cancer charity because she knew about his mother, but his lawyer said send them to him."

"Thanks, traitor."

Adie laughed. "Aah, DiNozzo... you'd just go out the back door anyway.." He disconnected, and Tony opened the package. He wasn't surprised somehow, that Swinson would take over the meagre pay of a dead man. He'd only seen him once, during Arthur Hastings' trial, outside the courtroom, but he hadn't liked what he'd read in him, and Tim had described him as a lizard. He trusted the Gemcity assessment.

What was revealed in the official employment record, and the notes jotted in the margins by Mrs. Shilton, was simple, and sad. The man had needed to support himself while in the USA, and had done his work as a bodyguard efficiently, and without violence, threat or attitude. He had taken two weeks off when his mother had died, and another two days at the time of her funeral. He'd then returned to work while he arranged for her will to be executed, and her house to be sold.

Tony only drew three interesting facts from it all. Until the day Ackerman died, Brock had been a grieving but balanced personality; although Swinson was dealing with the house sale, the returned exile didn't trust him to handle his mother's will, and again, Swinson was the one who had recruited him as a heavy for Ackerman.

Out of curiosity and a desire to leave no stone unturned, he rang the lawyer who'd made Angela Brock's will, who told him, willingly enough, that Angela's estate was to go to charity. Yes, her son had been with her when she'd made the will, and said he didn't need anything, he had a house and job in Kimberley to return to, and he'd encouraged his mother to do whatever would make her happiest. The only problem he'd encountered as executor, he said thoughtfully, was that _someone_ was dragging their heels over the sale of the house.

_I wonder who,_Tony thought as he thanked him and disconnected. He pushed his chair away from his desk for a moment to stretch his long legs, and really_ hated _Thorley Swinson. If Brock had never met him, he'd have returned to his second home having reconciled with his mother, and helped both her and himself to find peace.

As it was, his peace and his understanding of himself as a basically good man had both been wrecked, and he'd rushed headlong into hurting people, and finally committing suicide by cop. Yes, he thought grimly, that was what it had been, but it sure as hell didn't make the cop feel any better. He hoped that the man's soul could find the ease that the end of his life had been denied.

Mr. Roland Gates arrived, and Tony found he wasn't as bored as he'd expected to be from having spoken to him on the phone. It was actually quite interesting learning about the benefits of organic food, and listening to all the long, patient steps a dairy farmer had to go through before he could use that coveted word 'organic', or it would have been if he'd had more time. He listened politely; after all the man had taken the trouble to come to them, and while he was explaining why he simply couldn't have walked away from everything he'd worked so hard for, Tony remembered the malice that Tim had pointed out. This man had almost been another victim.

Somehow, he kept the acute disappointment off his face when Mr. Gates produced the recordings he'd promised, when he'd finally decided to bug his own office. "You'll hear" he said proudly, "It's the same man every time. He said his name was Ackerman, and he always brought either a lawyer, who was always really smooth and wouldn't let him actually threaten, or a guy he never bothered to introduce. A minder, I thought."

Ackerman was freaking dead, Tony thought in despair; they couldn't do a thing even if anything on the tape was truly a threat... Damn, damn, damn. "What did this minder look like?" he asked idly, fully expecting to hear Brock described.

"Oh... er, tall, beer-belly, sandy hair in a crew-cut, blue or grey eyes, forearms with blue and green tatoos. Mid thirties maybe... far too young to be carrying that much weight." He caught Tony's blink, and smiled, and the serious man disappeared. "I _know,_" he said impishly. "I believe in healthy eating... can't help noticing those who don't!"

Tony smiled back, and got carefully out of his chair. "Mr. Gates," he said happily, I'd really like you to meet a friend of mine!" _A break! It may be small, but it's a BREAK!_

He left a mesmerised Roland Gates in Abby's care, looking at tatoos and facial construction programs, and hobbled back to his desk. He'd barely time to pop a couple of Tylenol, and ring Mrs. Shilton to be told no, no-one like tatoo-man on her books, before Gibbswiggs returned.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

"The man is a snake," Ziva said.

"Yeah, I called him that too... McGee said lizard."

"Either will do," Ziva agreed. "He knows that this boss of his is up to all sorts of skull-diggery, but he revealed nothing. He refused to say who the boss was, he cited lawyer-client confidentiality; he was regretful about Brock and Ackerman, and marvelled at both dying within such a short time of each other, but he could 'throw no light on it'. He acknowledged that he is the go-between the boss and the construction workers, the boss prefers it that way. He denied utterly that any threats had ever been made, and said he would never allow such a thing, because his client was an honest businessman. Hah!"

Roy Fordham nodded. "He's a smooth one all right. You want to hear what he said when we asked him about Hastings?"

"Oh, yeah." It was Gibbs who spoke, but everyone was aware of Tony hunching forward in his chair.

"'Hastings is not a pleasant man.'" Roy steepled his fingers, and did a credible impersonation of Swinson for those who knew him. "'I felt for a long time that I had let this colour my way of handling the trial. I could have done a better job; it is not my place to pass judgement. Hastings may indeed go back to jail after the retrial, but it will not be for so long, and I will have belatedly ensured him justice. I owed it to my profession.' When we asked him where Hastings is now, he had no idea. He said he paid for him to spend two nights at the motel in Scranton, and left him there. We checked again with the motel, and they confirmed that Hastings is long gone."

Tim sat carefully down on the edge of Ziva's desk. "We pooled information on the way back," he told Tony. "All three 'construction managers' have got their story off pat in spite of our efforts. They've never met the boss; he communicates through email or Swinson. We spoke to one of the brickies at the site where we found DaSilva, he said he was a useless boss, and the foreman really runs the site."

"We found much the same," Kath said. So did Ziva and Roy."

"Altogether a really frustrating morning," Ziva said, having made two fruitless visits to most people's one.

"Only thing we did feel," Gibbs said, "was DaSilva is nervous, out of his depth. When the time comes, he'll be easiest to lean on, but he can't ell us what he doesn't know. So, DiNozzo, what've you been doing?"

Tony couldn't resist pushing his chair back again. He raised his arms – carefully – and linked his hands behind his head as he rattled off his morning's efforts.

Tim groaned. "We should all have stayed here," he said plaintively, and got a (very light) Gibbs-slap for his pains. The same security man who'd escorted Mr. Gates up reappeared. "Here, Tony, the warrant you asked for."

"Warrant?" Kath asked dubiously.

Now Gibbs groaned. "Ack... For Brock's place. Shoulda thought of it last night, but I had all these hospital cases to deal with." He went to pick the document up from Tony's desk, but the SFA snatched it away. The two looked at each other for a long moment. "DiNozzo, you're _not_ coming with me."

"Well, you could take Ziva, but she's already had a fun morning. McGee could do with a rest – although he's not going to get one cuz his Mr. Gates is down in Abby's lab... we could take Kath..." He watched Ziva wickedly out of the corner of his eye as he spoke.

The lady snorted. "Shut him up, Gibbs... get him out of here before he goes stir crazy. Take one of mine as well. Like... Roy. You've been there before. This time you'll get into the place."

Tony, clutching the warrant, was already half way to the elevator.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Angela Brock's house was one of eight arranged round a square of neatly mown grass, with a path in from the access road on the far side of the square. All the houses were owned by elderly people, who kept fresh paint and colourful gardens, and a good few of whom watched curiously as the three men with guns and badges approached. They said nothing, however, not even when Gibbs produced his lock-pick.

They weren't expecting to find dishes in the sink or the television switched on, or the general mess of a person who couldn't care less about the place, and they drew their guns, methodically clearing the ground floor. Roy began to move upstairs, Gibbs towards the cellar, Tony towards the back door. A few moments later a yell from the SFA had the other two men hurtling up, or down the stairs, and out into the rear garden. Tony was leaning against a tree about a hundred yards away, gasping for breath; sprinting that distance hadn't been a good idea...

Roy ran on past, as Gibbs checked his SFA out."He came out of... the garden shed, Boss, and made a... run for it..."

Gibbs put an arm under Tony's to steady him. "D'ya recognise him?"

Roy came loping back, shaking his head, _no-one_, as Tony said "Oh, yeah... It was Arthur Hastings."

**AN: Well, **_**we **_**knew who it was, but they didn't, so it's a cliffie for **_**them**_**.**


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Sorry, I've kept the rating the same, but beware of Arthur and his language. A couple of 'f' words. I feel that the way I write him is a little contrived because it's watered down, but honestly, I literally **_**can't**_** write his mouth as awful as it is. My PC would burst into flames. Me too.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 10

_Roy ran on past, as Gibbs checked his SFA out. "He came out of... the garden shed, Boss... and made a... run for it..."_

_Gibbs put an arm under Tony's to steady him. "D'ya recognise him?"_

_Roy came loping back, shaking his head, _no-one, _as Tony said, "Oh yeah... it was Arthur Hastings."_

He almost sank to his knees, spots in front of his vision, as his body tried to cope with trying to breathe because he needed to stay alive, and _not_ to breathe because it _hurt._

"Hey, c'me on." Roy stood in front of him, holding him up by the elbows, while Gibbs went behind him and wrapped his arms round his waist, splinting his lower ribs to stop their movement while Tony breathed unsteadily with the upper ones until he managed to get some breath back .

"Dammit, DiNozzo, chasing him was dumb."

"Well, yeah... Boss," Tony told him patiently, head spinning, "I know... that... _now._ It... was _Hastings, _Boss_._" His tone was unrepentant, as Gibbs had expected – that one word said it all, what else could he have done?

Gibbs resisted the urge to ask if he was sure, hell, _sure_ he was... He let go carefully, glad to no longer be feeling the bellows-blown heaving of DiNozzo's lungs, although he wouldn't forget it, and it was Roy Fordham who asked, as he released Tony's arms and stood back, "What happened?"

"Nothing to my credit," Tony growled as soon as he could string a coherent sentence together. "I was in the kitchen, heading for the garage, and I saw a movement through the window. Shed door flew open; I just _stood _there for a moment, couldn't believe my eyes. Hastings came galumphing out of the shed and headed down the back road. I shook myself, yelled and went after him. Dammit, the guy can't run for love nor money; he looks like a hippo on Temazepam – Speed – Temazepam – Speed... and I still couldn't catch him. I should have yelled sooner."

Gibbs just gave him a 'give over' sort of look, and shook his head. They all walked slowly along the back road, to where it branched into two. One way led to more back gardens; the other ran by a rank, unappealing looking pond with reeds and overhanging trees before leading to basketball courts, a club house and a soccer field.

"Ah... he could have dropped out of sight anywhere," Gibbs said with a frustrated frown. "We don't know if he's got transport -"

"Putting out a BOLO now," Roy told him, reaching for his phone, then he stiffened, looking across at the pond, his light blue eyes wide and angry. "Damn! Who'd have thought it? Ack... I should have!"

The other two looked where his frown led them; as they'd come further up the road, they'd got a different view of the pond, and under the trees, behind the reed-bed, the thick duckweed covering of the water was broken in a wide, chaotic patch, and a brown, greasy slick led to the far bank.

Once again, Gibbs was philosophical, which raised two sets of eyebrows. "Like you said – who'd have thought the likes of Hastings would hide in a pond? He probably fell in, then decided to stay there until you'd gone."

"Maybe we should have it dragged – check he's not still in there," Tony muttered under his breath, and Gibbs pretended he hadn't heard. DiNozzo wasn't malicious by nature, and the venom in his tone, although out of character, was understandable. "So..." he went on brightly, "What did he do next? He'll have been pretty noticeable on foot, unless everyone round here is wearing pond weed."

"Well..." Roy frowned and ran his fingers through longish sandy hair, "I'd say it's a good job your friends went away... he'll go to the Hastings place."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

_Arthur had been a difficult charge, as usual. Swinson had made sure that the two large young construction workers sent to 'protect' him hadn't been warned; he didn't want them refusing the task out of hand. They were used to bad language, on a building site it was part of the job, but they'd never heard such a steady stream of biliousness, and they were sick of it. Nothing was right; the house, the food, the TV stations which were all run by – they'd never heard such a variety of racial and homophobic epithets in one breath before... One young man stood looking through the window from behind the nets, wishing to see Da Silva, or Swinson, or just about anybody, coming to take the damn' guy away, and he stiffened. _

"_I thought D.S. said we were protecting this guy from heavies?"_

_"And?"_

"_There... getting out of the black Charger... I know him - that guy's a Metro **cop**. They've all got badges... they better not be coming here."_

"_Cops..."_

_"Yeah. I've got juvie... I've kept my nose clean since – I don't want cops to think I'm involved with **him**..."_

_Hastings had shoved him out of the way. "Cops? Where? Ah, damn it all, those two fed bastards again! Don't let them in, ya hear? You've never seen me, you don't know me, an' ya tell that fucking boss of yours to do something damn quick -" he turned round again, to find the two young men had disappeared._

_As he'd run to the back door, he could see them in the distance, casually walking up the road as if they belonged in the neighbourhood. One turned and gave him a derisive wave as he went._

_Arthur Hastings let out another blast of crudity at his back, then remembered just who was coming to the front of the house, and his gut clenched in fear. He couldn't be found here... his eyes had fallen on the sturdy garden shed, and for once he'd had the forethought to shut the kitchen door, so it wouldn't advertise the fact that someone had gone through it, before he ran across. It wasn't locked; he dashed inside, and shut the door._

_Only then did he realise he had a problem; there was no window, so he had no idea what was going on outside, and a few minutes of standing there in sick anticipation amid the flowerpots reduced him to near hysteria. Fight didn't come into it – flight was the only thing left._

_He didn't think to open the door quietly; as it slammed back, he ran as fast as his bulky, unfit body would let him. He'd done as little exercise as he could get away with in prison, and had never had any problem obtaining as much food as he could eat. (One glare at the trusties doing the dishing up had always guaranteed a well filled tray.) Sheer terror pushed him on, however, and he'd covered a fair distance before he glanced over his shoulder. DiNozzo... bastard... he ran on to a fork in the road, and saw a brown shingle building, a sports club maybe... he headed for it, thinking it would be built on piles and have crawl space..._

_He'd come to a green, unattractive pond, and as he skirted its edge he looked back again. Well, shee-ut. DiNozzo was picking himself up, with difficulty, off his knees. Turned out that namby-pamby fucking Eye-talian gigolo couldn't run. Ha...**what the f... **His own fault, not that he'd ever have acknowledged it; he'd been enjoying watching the pretty-boy bastard struggle, which made it DiNozzo's fault, hadn't seen the patch of mud, and his descent into the stagnant pond was undignified. (It would have warmed Tony's heart if he'd seen it, but he didn't even hear the splash for the roaring in his ears.)_

So here he was, wet, smelly, angry, humiliated, and very impatient; having to wait, and he hated waiting. He remembered a guy bragging to him in prison, and he'd have punched him if he'd had the nerve, but he'd thought his plan was a good idea all the same.

"_The cops know I hid the money," Brundell had laughed, "And next week, when I get **out of here**," he'd emphasised the words to his audience who weren't getting out, "I'm not going to go near it. I've got more patience than they have... I've got a place to lie low, and when they've forgotten about me, that's when I'll move."_

"_They never forget," another inmate had said moodily, but Brundell had just laughed._

"_Sure, they do."_

He'd seen the big people carrier with all its doors open, as he'd slunk along a back fence, and he'd seen the family loading all their holiday gear. Looked like they were taking a good long road trip. He was a builder, g'dammitall, and he knew how to break into a place. He knew how to take care of a burglar alarm. He sat in the undergrowth, waiting for dark. Once night fell, that house was his, and he'd stay there until he'd been forgotten. Then that two-faced son of his was going to get a visit.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The neighbours didn't know when Hastings had arrived at Angela Brock's house, or even that he'd been there. Yes, they all agreed, everyone kept an eye out for everyone else, but if people came and went in the very early morning for instance, nobody would be awake to see. They didn't know Angela's son had died; Angela had been a good woman; sorry, they really didn't know anything.

Fingerprints from a large hand were on the TV and the fridge; there were too many others, all overlaid and smudged, to give any useful information. They called for reinforcements, which arrived in the shape of Kath and Ziva. Both took hard looks at Tony, but wisely said nothing. A careful processing of the house revealed nothing of any interest, except for a small safe, which was empty. They found a couple of clear prints on that; probably too small to be Arthur's.

In the end, Kath clapped her hands together. "Meanwhile, back at the ranch..." she said firmly, and they agreed and called it a day.

Back at the ranch, they found things had been afoot. Jinny, with her superdesk, had been installed in a large spare room at NCIS, as her Chief had suggested she'd be better there where it seemed everything else was happening.

"There's another reason, Lieutenant," Director Vance told Kath regretfully. The tone of his voice sent the veteran, with her dodgy back, sinking into the nearest chair.

"Police corruption?" she asked resignedly.

"Chief Moorcroft wants your team to stay on the case, but no-one else. You may end up having to arrest some of your own."

"What's happened?"

"I'll let McGee and Detective Lasz explain. The Chief says you'll have his full backing, and to keep him posted."

The Director left quietly, and Ollie said, "Remember the tatooed man? That Mr. Gates described? Tim took him down to Abbie, and she built a picture of him. As soon as I sent it to Jinny she went frantic. His name's Treat Farrier, he's one of the uniformed officers who went to her aid after the crash. She recognised him straight away. Said he was kind..."

Kath sighed, glad she was sitting down. "So... was he just moonlighting, or is he a bent cop? And how many more like him are there?" She rubbed her hands over her face with a grimace. "Either way he's finished as a Metro officer... I'll get him over here on some pretext, and arrest him."

"Already done, Kath," Ollie said quietly. "I got him to help bring Jinny's stuff over, then I stood back while Tim presented him with the photofit. It's an NCIS arrest, in case you want to keep out of it."

Gibbs stepped close to her, as close as he could without actually touching, and said neutrally, "I'll handle the interrogation if you want me to, Kath."

The Lieutenant considered it for a moment, then shook her head. "This isn't the first time you and I have been involved in smoking out crooked cops, Jethro," she said finally, with a rough-edged laugh. "It's a wonder there are any left. McGee, nice work. You too, Ol." Gibbs squeezed her shoulder briefly as she stood up. "Show me where you've put him. And then go take a rest, McGee. You as well, DiNozzo," she threw over her shoulder as she swept out after Tim. A moment later she threw the door open to the interrogation room and swept _in_, and the watchers behind the mirror couldn't help a wince of sympathy at the look of despair on the patrol-man's face when he realised who his visitor was.

She threw herself into the too-small chair with a scrape and a crash that made the man opposite her raise his bowed head. She didn't look at him for a few moments, as she ran her eyes over the sheet of notes that Tim had given her. When she looked up, she spoke briskly. "Now, Officer Farrier, time's short, and you're in the shit. The only way you can hope to survive all this is by your complete co-operation. I want to know everything you know about your _day-job_, and I want to know it now."

Farrier squared his shoulders. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Well, I could quote the paragraph in a Metro Police Officer's Articles of Service that says on no account may he or she take other paid employment, so unless you've been playing the heavy for free, which I can't imagine – young man like you always has a sweetie to impress, right? That takes money... well, anyhoos, we've got you on that. Suspension, then dismissal. That's the least you can expect."

The young man looked at his hands, and shrugged sadly. He'd had time to sit and think. "Yeah, well... like you said, Lieutenant, a bit of extra money's always nice... it didn't seem much of a risk... stupid really, I like – hah – _liked_ being a cop. But I haven't done anything wrong. I mean, I haven't committed any crimes."

Kath looked at him without conviction or approval, then glanced down at Tim's note again. "The one witness we have, the one who fingered you, agrees. You 'just stood there looking big.' And if they'd ordered you to get physical, you telling me you'd have said no? And do bear in mind, Officer Farrier, that he's only the first witness we've _found_. Right now, if I know him, my Sergeant'll be ringing round anyone he can think of who might have had a visit from you, to see if they say different."

She pointed at the blue and green art-work showing slightly under his cuff. "Memorable, that. And rather foolish of you to show it off. You'd better tell me what you have done, then. Let's start with how long you've been moonlighting, then go on to how you were approached and by whom, then you can tell me how many times you've done the job, when and where you did it, exactly what it entails... _and who else you know's involved._"

"Lieutenant..." The one word was dragged from him, it sounded almost pleading.

"OK," she said more gently, "How long?"

Gibbs turned to say something to Tim, but he wasn't there. Ziva pointed without comment, to where he was sitting on the floor against the back wall, slumped alongside Tony; they were both spark out. The technician said cheerfully, "I'll play it all back for them later." Gibbs grunted and turned his attention back to the proceedings,

Farrier wasn't a coward, for all that the arrival of the feared Lieutenant Wigg had made his heart plummet. He was done; the only thing for it was to fess up.

He'd been approached about three months ago, by a stranger, while helping to set up a local fund-raising event. He'd been doing some heavy lifting, the guy had remarked that he looked strong, and how would he like to earn some extra cash. He hadn't been in uniform, no, he didn't think the man would have asked him if he'd known he was a cop.

As far as he'd known, his job was to protect the 'persuaders' in case their intended victims took a swing at them. He'd never had to _do_ anything. He'd told them he wouldn't.

"You were never asked, Officer Farrier. Do you really know what you'd have done if you _had _been?That's just one reason why you were stupid to get involved."

"Yeah..."

Kath flicked her eyes at the mirror, hoping that Jethro and everyone else she knew was piled into that room, would understand that she believed she'd had the truth so far.

From the description, the stranger had been Ackerman. Did he know he was dead? From the reaction,they all thought no. So, to the where and when. Farrier asked for a notepad and pencil to keep track of what he'd already said, and to write dates and places. He'd told Ackerman after the last visit to the Gates dairy, that they were wasting their time, and had heard him on the phone later in angry conversation with someone on the same subject. He'd heard 'tell the boss', so he'd assumed that it was that creepy lawyer guy.

No, he knew nothing about businesses called Tail Stars or Equipease, and yes, he'd been involved in a couple of cases where the intimidation had worked. That lawyer had been there then too.

"We know him," Kath said heavily. "Now, the truth here, Treat..."

"Lieutenant, I've been telling you the truth."

"I know. But that was the where and the when. Now, I need to know the who."

Farrier leaned an elbow on the table and rubbed a clenched fist against his forehead. "I know Swinson says the boss has 'tame cops'," he said finally, "But I'm not one. And I don't know who they are. I heard him one time telling Da Silva to stop worrying, the boss paid his informants well, in the police, and local authorities... '_He's got a finger in every pie,' _he said. _'He knows what's going on before they do, and we'll always be able to stay one jump ahead of the law.'"_

"Tame cops," Kath grimaced again. "How many different authorities?"

"If I knew I'd tell you, Lieutenant. More than one, from what I heard. I can tell you names of guys I met, but if any of them were cops I didn't know it."

Kath sighed. "OK," she said as kindly as she could. "So, anything else you can tell me?"

Farrier shook his head resignedly, and then his eyes widened. "Wait a minute... what's Tail Stars?" When Kath explained, the cop was almost excited. "It's at Riverbend, right? Not so far from Harper's Ferry?"

Gibbs' gut gave him a kick under the ribs, so he kicked Tony's foot, and then Tim's, (but gently,) then wished he'd been able to film the undignified tangle as they struggled to leap efficiently to their feet. Ollie and Ziva were kinder, and helped them.

"I think," Farrier began slowly, "that Ackerman thinks the hired help doesn't have ears. I was out at the construction site that Ackerman managed, waiting to go visit places with him, and Swinson arrived. There was another guy with them, had a South African accent, in the end he went with Ackerman, and I got sent to Da Silva. Anyway, Swinson was mad. He said that the'digger trick' hadn't worked, and someone had used generators. He wanted to know what Ackerman was going to do about it.

"Ackerman said if he thought 'that woman' was bad, he was going to have worse trouble at Riverbend. Even if they could get rid of the 'horse ranch' – that's the tails in 'Tail Stars', right? - they'd still have big trouble with getting a change of use for the park land. Swinson just laughed, and said oh, he'd got a Congressman working on that, just like at Holt."

The watchers on the other side of the mirror looked at each other, in shock at first, and then resignation.

"A Congressman, no less," Ollie said wearily. "It's like the Twelve-bloody-Days of Christmas. We'll be getting Five SE-NA-TORS next. And it's already too late for Holt. It's on Jinny's list 3, the one where we suspect coercion may already have worked. It's gone under the diggers."

Tim turned back from the technician's laptop where he'd been typing furiously. "Congressman Norman White," he said. "A Veritable Pillar of Virginian Society."

Tony was silent, trying to catch something elusive that had flitted through his sleepy brain. Yeah... _he'd got a Congressman working on it... _That word 'he'. Hmm...

**AN: I'm posting this before heading up north for three days. Anyone kind enough to review, and I know some pals will, bless... I promise to reply when I get back on Thursday.**


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: VP, I don't know if you're back yet, but I hope you had a great time... and I'll be using your idea in the next chapter, I think!**

**Thanks again to Angel...**

**Not a lot going on this chapter, (sigh) but we're winding up to the grand (I hope) finale...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 11

Jinny's room at NCIS seemed just as crowded as the one at Indiana Avenue had been; the difference was, everyone had a seat and nobody had to perch on a window-ledge.

"He offered to go back and gather more information," Kath said heavily, for the benefit of the few who hadn't crammed into the observation room to watch the interrogation of Officer Farrier. "If our investigations show he's telling the truth, and I'm thinking he is, about not having done anything criminal, I'm inclined to take him up on the offer, with the proviso that he makes some excuse and gets out of there if he's asked to do something illegal." She gave a derisive snort. "He's regretting ever wanting that extra money."

"Or at least getting caught," Roy said harshly.

"That too," Kath said wryly. "But if he can come up with anything useful, since he offered, I didn't ask, I'll talk to the Chief about letting him resign, rather than firing him. He's trying to make amends... My feeling is that he's just into small-time moonlighting, he's not a bent cop." She sighed sadly. "Just a damn fool."

"You're not wrong, Kath," Gibbs said, unconsciously echoing her tone.

(He didn't have to point out that what starts as a bit of harmless moonlighting can easily escalate into more; 'do this or we'll tell your boss you did that', and Farrier should have known it. Now he was only of interest for what he could tell them.)

Tim, to his left, went into Gemcity mode and thought "Oxymoron!" He shook himself slightly and refocussed; his side ached and he still needed sleep, but what Farrier had had to say had made the job they had to do even bigger and more difficult. Heavies, innocent people cheated, crooked lawyers, bent cops and now corrupt Congressmen... The case they'd named Prime Real Estate was acquiring more and more bricks by the minute.

"Let him steam for a bit," Gibbs went on to Kath, "while we ask around, then if you're happy, see what he can find. Need to warn him that Ackerman and Brock are both dead though. He needs to know it's not without risk." He was aware of Tony's sudden stillness in the chair opposite, and flicked a brief glance at him, but the younger man was staring at the floor. He'd catch him later.

They spent the next fifteen minutes drawing up strategies, deciding who'd do what, and how; like how to investigate a Congressman without him knowing he was being investigated. Finding out if there were any more like him, Ziva reminded them, and talking to people who had already been cheated and bullied out of what was theirs. "Perhaps we can still get them some sort of justice," she said hopefully.

Identifying the boss, and cops not worthy of the name, identifying people most at risk; other suggestions were thrown into the mix so fast that in the end Jinny, fingers galloping over her keyboard in an effort to keep up, squeaked "Whoa!"

They all fell silent and looked at her – and felt guilty. She'd put a bit of her lost weight back on, and the lines that had been drawn in her face by pain were fading. She was wearing a skirt for the first time, and with fake tan bravely masking the worst patches and tramlines on her legs, she looked the best they'd seen her in ages – but, she also looked as tired as DiNozzo and McGee.

"Ah... sorry, gal," Kath said contritely. "This is a lot for you, I know."

|Jinny grinned. "I volunteered," she said gamely, hammering off her last few notes.

"No you didn't," Tony said. "McGee twisted your arm."

"With your encouragement," Tim said, unfazed, knowing the levity had been aimed at Jinny, not him. He looked back at her. "And McGee," he said virtuously, "will get you some help." As he left the room the two turned the glare of mock belligerence they'd been giving each other onto him.

In the passage outside he met the Director, in full cry, clearly on his way down to what they'd all nicknamed PREHQ, pronounced Preeheck. "McGee! I just received an update saying there's a _Congressman_ involved? That true?" He didn't give Tim a chance to answer. "Do they know how carefully they're going to have to tread? Does Gibbs _know_ howto tread carefully?"

Tim held up a calming hand, one of only a few people who could do that to Vance without getting a glare at the very least. "We've only just found this out, Director. It's already been discussed, and Detective Cadogan updated you at once because of course you'd need to be involved. And yes, Sir, Gibbs may not like to tread lightly, but of course he knows how to do it when it's necessary. We all do. Er..."

He paused, thinking this was the perfect opportunity to make the request he had in mind.. Vance said impatiently, "Yes, Special Agent McGee?"

"Well, Sir... because it _is_ so delicate, and Detective Cadogan, though _totally_ capable, is currently snowed under with information to sift through -"

"Who d'you want, McGee?"

"Keating, Sir."

"Get him. If you need anyone else tell him to fix it from his department."

"Thank you, Director." Tim waited until Vance had disappeared into the room to jump in the air, click his heels and hiss "Ye-e-esss!" He headed down to Cyber-crimes.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It took some time to reassure the Director that nothing would be done hastily. More information had to be gathered, and collated, and the chaff filtered out. They'd look at the Congressman's finances, his activities in the House, and all the other leads as Jinny turned them up in order of priority. One thing they intended, they told him, was to look at any land-deals in the area they felt might be suspect, from the point of view of Congressional involvement. Any Congressman. Vance winced.

He was very aware, as was Gibbs, that DiNozzo was holding himself in with some effort, but the SFA didn't say anything, so Vance didn't ask. With a promise to fill SecNav in, and find them extra help if they needed it, he left, confident of the double team's abilities, but still wondering what sort of a mess this was all going to evolve into, especially when it became public knowledge.

Ziva and Ollie had wasted no time, and had already spoken to the people whose businesses Farrier had told them had already been destroyed. Both said the same thing; they'd protested to the police and nothing had been done. The Virginia case they turned over to Chris Coppi, whom they trusted; he took it up with a heavy heart, knowing the likely outcome would be finding some sort of dishonesty among his own people.

They arranged to meet the owner of the canoe school and hire whose boats had been burned in their store, whose insurance company were still havering because arson was involved, and whose buildings had already been bulldozed. Jinny gave them two more names she'd already identified; they planned to go there later. They left, armed with a laptop that held Abby's photofit programme; they were after faces to put names to, and willing witnesses.

As they left, Abby arrived, as bouncy as everyone else was weary, just as Jinny opened her email box, and she said, "Ooh, what's _this_?".

"Probably what I just sent you," Abby said happily. "Those cars you sent _me_, Tony... the old blue one had some black clothes in the boot that we'd already seen Brock wearing, and a letter from Angela Brock's lawyer warning Brock that he felt Swinson was dragging his heels over the sale of his mother's house, which you already knew as well, didn't you?"

"So, not much, then?" Tony was disappointed. Never mind, it had still been a good idea.

"Did I say that?" Abby held up a small, dark green spiral bound notebook in an evidence bag. "I photographed this and sent the pages to Jinny... Oh, and only Brock's prints are on it. Starts with notes of what he needs to buy to do house repairs. But on page six, it has in big letters, 'I don't trust S', and then dates, _and details,_ of jobs he did for Swinson. How much he was paid. The Ackerman job he's scored through so hard the page has ripped, and there are water-marks on it. I tested a corner,Tony, it was tears. I think that horrible lawyer ruined his life!"

"Nice work, Abs..." He hugged her. Although her sense of theatre had had him twisting for a moment, he couldn't really grudge her it. Didn't they all save the best until last? Tentatively, with that in mind, he asked, "The Tahoe?"

He heard Jinny murmur "Oh, yeah," as she looked at her screen, and Abby hopped about excitedly, so he waited. They all waited.

"Underneath the driver's seat," Abby said gleefully, "I found a compartment, cunningly concealed, but he couldn't hide it from Sciuto... with a laptop in it. The seat, and the compartment, and the laptop had all been bent in the plunge down the hillside, so recovering data was patchy and difficult. _But..._I got enough to know when I found _this_..." she held up a disc, also in a protective bag, "that it's his back-up." There were approving murmurs all round, until the dark side of Abby said tragically, "It's encrypted." This time the murmurs were not so approving, (although most of them recognised theatrics again – Abby was perfectly capable of running a decryption,) until Jinny spoke again, without taking her eyes from her monitor.

"Four different encryptions so far... one I can break right away. I mean, there's an 'at' sign that he's not even tried to hide, so I can identify emails pretty quickly. Yahoo'll be dead easy to spot, gives me four letters straight away! This word..." she clicked the page onto the large screen they'd set up, "drcldil... two ds, two ls... what do you want to bet me that that's Swinson?" She laughed. "As long as I don't fall asleep at my desk I'll have this one for you in twenty minutes. The guy hasn't a clue – er, hadn't – about encryption."

"And with an extra pair of hands, you'll have them all by tea time," Tim said from the doorway.

"An extra _brain_, please," Daniel Keating said beside him. Tony took time off from his little bubble of elation, that he knew would be short-lived anyway, to wonder if the Ubergeek of Cybercrimes had had some of McGee's confidence rub off on him.

"Two extra brains!" Abby reminded them

While Keating was introducing himself to Jinny, and Kath and Roy were settling that it was time they went and leaned on Swinson, Tony finally drew Gibbs to one side.

"Sit," the Boss said, looking at him closely. He pulled up the next chair. "Still not your fault that Brock died," he reminded him sternly. "Tony,I know no-one's mentioned Hastings. That what's on your mind?"

"Yeah, Boss. And -"

"I know I said I'd find him for you -"

"We all found him, Boss, just didn't work out. But -"

"I understand. The investigation's hotting up -"

Tony held his hands up, and Gibbs looked at the tired and scruffy dressing on the left one, but didn't say anything, seeing his SFA's increasing agitation.

"Wait... wait. Yes, that's my agenda, Boss. I've got to find him. But listen, I had a weird thought." Gibbs raised an eyebrow and waited. "Something Farrier said, then Abby kind of reinforced it. He said Swinson said 'he'd' got a Congressman working on it. Not his boss, or his client. I wondered if it was a slip of the tongue. Then Abby said Swinson had ruined Brock's life, and it was just a phrase, but again, I thought it was just as likely him as this shadowman. What if Swinson _is_ the shadowman, Boss? Uses this big, scary, powerful figure to hide behind? To threaten and blame with?"

Gibbs said nothing for a moment, and Tim, sitting with Jinny and Keating a little distance away, but drawn into listening, wondered if he was going to dismiss the idea. His gut versus Tony's? Tim found the idea very plausible somehow.

"I wouldn't tell Kath and Fordham that just yet," the Boss said finally. "If it's the case, I don't think Swinson should know we've figured him. Let's wait until they get back... see what they come up with when they talk to him. But you could be right. Difficult for this guy to _never _surface if he exists."

Now it was Tony's turn to simply wait as Gibbs shifted in his chair and his knee cracked. "Hastings may only be on the fringes of all this."

"Boss!" Tony scraped his chair, leaning forwards in alarm. "We've still got to -"

"Hey... It works out... if he _wasn't_ involved, it'd be difficult to justify sending you after him when we've got a case this size to work on."

"Ah..." Tony subsided; it was a sign of how tired he was that that hadn't occurred to him.

" But I checked the BOLOs on him," Gibbs went on. "There's been no sign of him, in the area where we lost him, or at Sandybacks, or anywhere else. Jinny got details of his bank account, the one Patch told us about, and put an alert on that, but nothing there either. I know you want to get after him, but you don't have anywhere to start. And when you do, I can only spare you McGee."

_Great,_ Tim thought. _Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves._

"Boss," Tony protested, and Tim shrugged inside. _Seems Tony doesn't want me either._

"Everyone else has got something to do already -"

"Yeah, Boss -"

_I shouldn't listen to this, I'm only going to wind up -_

"I know he's not ideal, but -"

"Boss." Firmly. "Boss, I _want_ to take McGee. I know he's a crock right now, like me. There's still nobody I'd prefer. I was going to ask if you could spare him."

Gibbs nodded. "There's a condition. Two. Get Ducky to re-dress that hand. Get some rest, and persuade McGee to as well. And you don't do anything until we have a lead."

Tim walked over, suddenly light-hearted, making sure it seemed as if as if he'd just heard the tail end of the discussion. "That was three, Boss," he said cheerfully. "How about we get some rest and then if there isn't a lead we go looking anyway?"

Gibbs opened his mouth, closed it again, and rolled his eyes. "Clear off, the two of you."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Arthur Hastings felt better. But for the fact that he couldn't switch the lights on in the house things would have been perfect. He'd had a long, hot shower, and left his pond-smelly clothes on the shower room floor – he'd never bother to wear them again. The man of the house was shorter than him, and not as big built, but he'd found loose sweats that would do nicely. He'd found plenty of canned and freezer food, and enjoyed his first good meal since going to prison.

He'd hunted in all the places he knew people were likely to hide cash, and although he'd only found a paltry hundred and forty-one dollars in the room of one of the kids, it was a start. The room was full of posters of those neanderthals that called themselves musicians. He'd looked at the image of one posing pansy, wearing eye make-up and pouting at the camera, and taken great pleasure in ripping it off the wall and screwing it up.

So, clothes, food, warmth, money... now all he needed was a good night's sleep, and in the morning, though he didn't know it yet, that two bit lawyer crook was going to get him a car. He tried all the beds and found the one he liked best, wedged chairs under the front and back doors, and had one more thing to do before settling down for a good night's sleep. He picked up one of the 'borrowed' trainers he'd swapped his waterlogged shoes for. Yes, the ATM card they'd given him with his other belongings when he left Oldenburg was safely there, in its waterproof wallet. It wasn't safe to try to access his account yet, but he sure as hell didn't believe that snivelling shyster when he said he couldn't access it at all.

It wouldn't be long before he had everything that was his, then he'd be over the border into Mexico before anyone could catch him. He pulled the quilt up and slept soundly.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It was quiet in PREHQ. On the long couch under the window, Jinny had gone to sleep the moment her head touched the cushions. Abby had draped her crimson snuggle-rug over her, and now she and Daniel Keating sat side by side tapping away at decryption programs, and occasionally whispering as some new tid-bit of information appeared.

Kath and Roy hadn't returned from their visit to Swinson's office, and Ollie and Ziva weren't expected back for a while since they were trying to see as many people from Jinny's victim file as they could. Tony and Tim, having dutifully visited and been clucked over by Ducky, had returned to the bullpen with fresh white dressings to hand and side, and now were dead to the world behind their respective desks. Gibbs sat at his making sure they stayed that way, as he pulled everything he could on Hastings. He'd at least make sure that Tony had all possible information to hand when the search for the missing bailee began.

He frowned to himself at the judge's report; he'd surely see it all before... he found Swinson's statement, and but for the viewpoint the two could have come from the same pen. 'Not a pleasant man'... 'colouring of judgement'... 'owe it to my profession'... Gibbs took his reading glasses from his nose and dropped them on his desk. Damn, but he hated the things... This was either willing collusion or some sort of persuasion; Preston and Swinson agreed just a little too neatly. It might be interesting to see what his honour the judge had to say once Swinson was in custody. Sooner that was, the better.

He'd have laughed if he could have seen the lawyer at that moment; hunched down below the dash of his Jaguar, two blocks down from his office, trying to look inconspicuous but not miss the moment when those two cops left, he was adding up on the back of an envelope the latest additions to his emergency fund. He couldn't do it on his precious laptop; when he'd seen the detectives arriving by the front door he'd left by the rear, and not had time to get it from its locked drawer. He felt very much at a disadvantage without it – it was, after all, his alter-ego.

He cheered himself by looking over his nest-egg; the sale of Angela Brock's house had gone through today, and he'd not the slightest intention of passing the proceeds on to her lawyer. Now it seemed that the clearest course of action for him was to cut and run as soon as possible, he would take everything he could lay his hands on, and that was a lot. The architects, the construction workers, the suppliers, his enforcers and all the others in his pay would be left high and dry; no matter. There was also a wealth of blackmail material that could go on supplementing his income for a long time yet.

And he laughed aloud, long and hard, when he thought of Arthur Hastings. The man was impatient as well as greedy, but it had been easy, through a friendly bank clerk, to arrange a temporary glitch on the ATM card he thought Swinson didn't know about. It was all set up; there was only one more button to press... How he wished he could see the oaf's face when he finally accessed his account and found it empty.

**AN: No cliffie! I know it's the Summer, and you're all out on the beach, and you don't want sand in your laptops, but please review when you get back to the cabana...**


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Sorry about the delay – did I mention my son having an argument with a tractor? He's fine, thank heaven, his car's dead. Extra work for Mum – you betcha...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 12

Tony awoke to the sound of the voice of one of his favourite people. Not. Whoo, he must have been having a nightmare. He got slowly to his feet, and the voice said smoothly, "Very nice, DiNozzo. I'm sure the scruffy look must be the latest thing – you being so fashion conscious and all."

Tony fingered the sleeve of his rather rumpled Egyptian cotton shirt idly, then looked uninterestedly at the one the speaker was wearing. "Oh hi, Slacks. Yeah, Giza 45_ can _crease a bit if you abuse it, but it wears better than polyester every time, don't you think?" Not his best, but hey, it would do for now. Agent Sacks' glower was gratifying. Hmmm... hard floor or not, Tony actually felt rested. "So, something about all this caught your interest? After we've done the work?"

Fornell stepped in smoothly. "What makes you think we're here for the case, DiNotzo?" He wished his team could go from comatose to total, quick-thinking awareness in ten seconds...

"Well, you just confirmed it by saying 'the' not 'a' case," Tony said cheerfully. "But it could also be that we've been finding ba-a-ad public figures in three states, and we need the Feebies to round them up for us." Fornell didn't take personal offence at that; one, he knew DiNozzo, and two, the Italian's eyes were on Slacks – er, Sacks at the time. He kinda hoped Sacks was taking note.

The senior FBI agent noted the way the cheer slid right off DiNozzo's face as soon as no-one was looking at him, and guessed that the Italian was thinking of the personal interest he had in this case. Although he'd seen DiNozzo's clown personality as often as he'd seen his chill competent side, he'd only seen the guy completely mushed once in his life, and that was when he'd walked into the bull pen to find a desk-bound SFA literally holding the baby. The sight of a besotted DiNozzo making faces at a five month old who was making them right back would have been hilarious if it hadn't been kind of...nice. Tobias Fornell shook himself hard. What was he _thinking_?

Tony looked towards the corridor as Tim arrived from the direction of the conference rooms. He'd clearly showered and changed his clothes, and looked fresh, all things considered. He put a sheet of print-out in front of Gibbs, and looked over at Tony. For once neither one of them made a smart comment. Gibbs smiled inside at the united front against Sacks.

"You OK?" Tim was all business.

"Yeah... you?"

"Fine. No, really. Got a good sleep."

"How long..."

Gibbs answered for Tim. "Good six hours, DiNozzo. It was eleven pm... five in the morning now."

"But... Boss, you shouldn't have let me... no-one else was..."

Gibbs looked unrepentant. "Ack... we all got _some_ sleep." Tony simply raised an eyebrow. He couldn't recall _ever_ having seen the Boss asleep. Comatose, sure, asleep, never. Oh... well, maybe in a webbing sling in some Hercules somewhere... Gibbs read the look, and continued, unruffled, as Fornell and Sacks tried to make some sense of the unspoken conversation, "And you're not likely to get any more for a while."

The rumpled agent stiffened at once, eyes flying wide. "You've had some word on Hastings?"

Gibbs rose from his desk, moved to his SFA's side and looked him steadily in the eyes. "No, Tony. But McGee was right. You're better off looking than waiting around."

Tony shot Tim a grateful look, and Gibbs picked up one of the sheets from his desk. "This is everything we've got on him." As Tony took it, the Boss swept up the sheet that Tim had brought him, and almost chuckled. "So far, we've also got -" he held the paper at arm's length and squinted at it - "_Two _Congressmen, a deputy police chief, a mayor, two county clerks, a bank manager, three bank officials..."his voice went to a growl, "three moonlighting POs from Norfolk, two high ranking Military Policemen - ya don't need me to go on; none of them know they've been hooked yet."

"You all got _some_ sleep," Tony said derisively, as they all followed Gibbs back to PREHQ. "Nice going, Boss. But you should have woken me... I mean, you woke McEarlybird."

Alongside him, Tim snorted. "No, he didn't. Abby did – it's a wonder you didn't hear her and Keating – about twenty minutes ago when they cracked the last of Ackerman's encryptions. It was the hardest – he'd obviously got much better as he went along."

Tony grinned. "Never heard a thing. Was that how we found so many highly respected official dirtbags?"

Gibbs grimaced. Truth was, once they had Maxwell Brock for the assault on the young Marine, Jim Murphy, NCIS could simply have bowed out of the case and left it to others; only the suspected size of the case and the involvement of Arthur Hastings had been enough for Vance to allow them to stay involved. Well, it was still growing, but it'd be coming to a conclusion soon enough. He pushed the door to Preeheck open, and they all trooped in, as Tim began to tell his partner how the massive effort of collating all the information from so many sources really had paid off, (just how much he'd only learned himself ten minutes ago...) but he was cut off by Abby leaping to her feet and flinging herself at the SFA, yelling "Tony! You did it! You were right!"

Roy Fordham shot up off the couch. "What did I miss?" Ziva remained curled up in a chair in spite of the racket, deep asleep and amazingly silent. Ollie, Daniel Keating and Abby were all crowded with Jinny at her desk.

"I was? Oh, yeah, I WAS. Of course I was, I knew I was..." Tony couldn't resist a smirk at Agent Slacks, "What was I right about?"

"Well, we found a recurring email address just called 'client1,' and we thought it was a bit bland, but when we decrypted everything, we found all the orders _came _from it - if if they weren't just 'Swinson said the boss said' stuff, and all the questions _went _to there. Often the answer just came back, 'ask Swinson'. Jinny set to tracing where the receiving computer was located, and it was _Swinson's office!_ Or most of the time!"

Tony looked dubious for a moment. It couldn't be that simple... or that weird – a middle of the road, colourless lawyer the brains behind a network of cheating, spite, cruelty and corruption. On the other hand, why not? He'd thought it earlier, hadn't he? Tim's lizard, Ziva's snake. And the guy was mixed up with _Hastings..._

He said cautiously, "What about the other times? I mean, the client could have been visiting Swinson..."

Kath Wigg got up from the chair she'd been hunched in, and flicked a look at Gibbs. She'd also found time for a change of clothes, and was as fresh as a daisy. "We should never assume..." she said silkily, "But two things... One, Swinson wasn't there again when we went to his offices, but after a bit of chatting to his PA, Samantha, she accidentally let slip that he has this laptop that goes everywhere with him, and he won't let her use it, or see what's on it. She clearly thinks there's something significant about it though, because she was flustered and guilty when she realised what she'd said. Two, once when the receiver was located at Harper's Ferry, we know Swinson was there because two people saw him!" Tim and Ollie grinned.

"Date and time tallies," Ollie said. "Ninety percent certainty your hunch was right, Tony." His machine dinged. "Oh, _nice _timing... Here's another correlation. The machine was in Chillum when he bought gas there three days ago. Circumstantial, but tempting, you gotta say."

Tony shook his head in wonder. "How about that then." He looked round. "So, where do we go from here? Do we start making arrests -"

"And risk alerting some of them -"" Tim stepped in neatly.

"Or wait until we can get everyone at once?" Ollie sounded hungry. Tony wondered if he was thinking about his friends at Equipease.

"We've been thinking about that," Kath Wigg said. She turned to Jinny, who anticipated her next words and put a page up on the big screen with four lists on it. With perfect timing, Ziva yawned and sat up, but she didn't interrupt.

"List one," Kath said. "The people we've got. Solid evidence. List two; enough to frighten them with, now all we need's to crack them in interrogation." There was no doubt in her tone that they would. "List three, people we're damn sure are involved, but we need the evidence, and list four, people whose names have come up who need invesigating. (There's list five too – a lovely blank space waiting for anyone else we can find.) That's fifty-eight names so far, of whom seventeen are high ranking figures."

She waited a while for everyone to consider what they were seeing, then Jinny brought up another page. "We five," Kath said, indicating herself and the four around Jinny's desk, "were the only ones awake, so we've made a provisional order. Same lists, same names, but what we think are the most urgent at the top. You're all welcome to make other suggestions, but don't all shout at once!"

They all thought for a few moments, then it was Fornell who said thoughtfully, "The two Congressmen... Evan Shieldhouse is at the top of list one, but Norman White is only on list three. What's the story there?"

"We've got Shieldhouse," Ollie told him, and brought up the relevant details. "You can see the dates, bills he involved himself with, his interest in Riverbend, money to his account – no fear of detection, no attempt to disguise things. White, on the other hand..." again he brought up the information. "We know what he did at Holt, and we know how the local people's wishes were disregarded. You've only got to look at the local newspaper to see – and there's a link there so you can – how they were told what they needed, instead of having the powers that be listen to what they _wanted, _which was to be left alone_._ White could argue that what he advocated was the best thing for the area, and but for the comment Swinson made to Ackerman that'd be that."

He paused for breath with an angry huff. Having see what Ackerman had tried with Caroline Yorke, he had a lot of sympathy for the people of Holt. "He's on list three because but for a reported conversation, we've nothing on him. We can see what he said in the House, but there's no money trail at all. If he's been paid, we can't find it."

"Would more time help?" Fornell asked.

"I honestly think," Ollie Lasz said consideringly, "that if there was a money link between him and Swinson, Jinny would have found it."

"So either there isn't one, and Farrier was wrong, or... You think maybe he hasn't had his money?"

"I wonder how much he was promised?" Tony mused. "If Shadowboss doesn't exist..."

"Swinson could promise him vast amounts to ensure his co-operation, and then simply go back on the deal," Ziva contributed.

"He could say the Shadowboss had reneged on him too, and White could do nothing – he'd be mad as hell, and maybe easy to catch if we questioned him," Tony agreed, then stopped suddenly. He looked at Gibbs. "Why wouldn't he pay out, Boss? It'd be easier to go on doing what he's doing with a tame congressman, not an angry one at his heels -"

"He's getting ready to cut and run," Gibbs finished for him. "If he knew we were already on to him, he'd already have done it, but whatever, he doesn't like the attention, and he thinks it's just a matter of time."

"So _time_'s not something we have much of," Kath said. "I took a chance – I released Farrier half an hour ago, told him to go do what he could, any way he could, and I think he will, so if we can delay a little to give him a chance, that's good, but at the least, if you're right, Jethro, we need to locate Swinson and tail him. We can't lose him before it's time to pick him up – he can't be allowed to run."

There was a murmur of assent. "It will not be easy," Ziva said. "He has encountered many of us before."

"My people will do it," Fornell said, in a tone that suggested the reception he expected for that idea, but nobody argued. He stopped glaring defiantly at Gibbs, as the other man actually grinned at him.

Thanks, Tobias... guess we'd better start looking for him then."

Jinny looked up from feverish typing. "BOLO done," she said.

For a few moments there was silence, as they were all occupied by their own thoughts. Ollie thought of a fiery female boss and the people she protected, and his wife who'd _walked_ here from her car. Tim thought of slaughtered birds, and a teenager reassured because the ones who did it were going to prison. Tony thought of his friend bleeding on the ground while he reluctantly killed a man. Then he thought of Hastings. _Shit..._

McGee, alongside him, caught the look. "What?"

"Remember you wondered why anyone would want to spring a guy like Hastings?"

"I remember. I still haven't come up with an answer, except that the connection has to be the construction industry."

"Yeah... Try this. The one thing Arthur was good at was building houses, right?"

"Right." By now the Boss was listening.

" Swinson's heavies are no good at it, the foremen are running the sites. We're starting to notice things. So he remembers Arthur. Who better than him to sort the sites out in the first place, and to take the heat -"

"Be the fall guy," Tim said as he understood. "It might even be thought that he was the Shadowboss – at least until people got to know him. Either way, it takes all eyes off Swinson."

Tony nodded. "What d'you bet it didn't work. He found out he had a – not a tiger, a – a hyena by the tail. Hastings didn't want to _work_, he just wanted to get back at all the people he held grudges against. Swinson found he couldn't handle him... that's what he was doing at Brock's place. Swinson stuck him there until he could work out what to do with him."

Now Gibbs nodded. "It put more attention onto Swinson, not less. But it's one more thing to think about, and not the least important." He sighed heavily. "Tony... get a change of clothes and some food. Then get after him."

It was all he needed to say, and the terrible twins nodded and turned to go. "McGee , wait up."

"Boss?"

"Share the driving. Have you eaten?

"No, Boss."

"Do. And make sure he does. Keep me posted."

Tim nodded, and followed Tony.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It didn't last, of course... when indigestion woke him at three in the morning, Arthur Hastings couldn't get back to sleep. He threw the contents of the cabinet above the wash basin all over the bathroom in a vain search for antacids, then realised he'd switched the light on, and switched it off again, swearing and yanking so hard on the pull cord that it tore out of the fixture.

He lurked in the living room, dithering about whether or not to take flight again, but no police units arrived with lights flashing, so he stayed where he was; but his resolve to wait it out for a couple of days evaporated with his courage while he sat there. The security lights on the football club hut switched on and off from time to time; probably only a passing fox, but it could be kids looking for something to steal. They'd better not come here.

A police unit passed the fork in the road, and Hastings almost passed out from fright. The patrol was keeping an eye on the Brock house and the area around it, in case of his return, and didn't come anywhere near his hide-out, but it was enough. He called Swinson.

The lawyer hadn't been sleeping well either, and wasn't happy to have his fitful dozing interrupted by a voice he'd hoped never to hear again; but by the time he arrived, headlights off, at the address Hastings gave him, he'd worked out a plan. He wasn't brave enough to kill Hastings, and there wasn't anyone available he could persuade to do it, so he made the best use of the wretched man that he could.

"Just shut up, Arthur, I don't want to hear it." He slapped an envelope into one meaty hand. "One thousand dollars. Don't access your account until you've used it up." A key-fob followed the envelope. "Take the Jaguar. Take it anywhere, I don't give a damn. And I don't want to hear from you again." He walked out of the house before Hastings could say a word; if he'd looked back, he'd have seen the man wasn't even watching him, he was tearing into the envelope to check that there really was cash in there.

Swinson walked down the road to the point where he'd pre-booked a taxi in the name of Jones, and was dropped some time later half a mile from his home. Good riddance, Hastings. I hope they put a BOLO out on that car before too long, I hope they chase you halfway across the tri-state area, instead of looking for me, and I hope when they arrest you they won't believe you didn't steal the car.

NCISNCISNCISIS

Roy went out in the pale light of dawn and fetched breakfast. Two of Fornell's agents called in to say they were concealed outside Swinson's office; two more were outside his house, and reported that his Jaguar was nowhere to be seen. After a while, they heard a garage door creak somewhere nearby, although they couldn't see it, but when a small, dark city car came out of a side alley and turned away from them to chug off towards the city, they relaxed again. "Someone has to start early," one remarked.

Swinson drove unchallenged to the entrance to the underground parking lot beneath his office block. Fornell's team had taken up a position where they could see the windows of Swinson's firm, the imposing glass double doors at the front of the building, and the vehicle entrance. There was nothing remarkable about the little Chrysler that headed down the ramp; cleaners and night staff of the various businesses had been coming and going.

With client1 firmly under his arm, the lawyer checked that he was unobserved, and climbed the concrete stairs to his floor. He unlocked the front door silently; there was enough daylight to see by without switching the lights on, and he hurried to his inner office. He laid the laptop carefully on his desk, and began the business of collecting money from every available source. After about an hour, saving the best until last, he came to Arthur Hastings' account.

It was a mistake. He'd never heard of Jeanette Cadogan, Daniel Keating or Abigail Sciuto, so he had no idea what they could do. Preeheck was quiet, as Gibbswiggs and Fornell had all left to begin securing an unusually high number of warrants from judges who could be trusted to say nothing yet. Jinny sat curled round the mug of hot chocolate that Roy had brought her, waiting for her BOLOs to _do something. _An alert chimed, and she sat forwards, and a moment later she was calling the bull-pen.

"Gibbs! Come down here – tell everyone... Arthur Hastings is cleaning out his account!"

"On our way. Find-"

"Out where he is. I'm on that."

As everybody piled into PREHQ again, she was concentrating too hard to have time to raise her head. They waited while her fingers flew, and after a couple of minutes, she looked at them wide eyed. "It's not Hastings," she said. "The money's gone to client1. It's _Swinson_."

"Where is he?" A feeling of dire foreboding took up residence in Fornell's stomach.

"Getting to that..." She waited breathlessly, they all did, for another thirty seconds. "He's in his office."

"You _sure_?" She just looked at him. Seconds later he was yelling down his phone.

In his office, Swinson closed up client1 with a satisfied smile. It wasn't the dream ending he'd planned, but it was enough. Everyone else could sort out the mess, good luck to them. He had almost a million dollars amassed, and the feeling left him weak at the knees. He hurried to use his private bathroom, and smiled thinly at himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. Time to vanish. Walking back into his office, he picked up his jacket, and stopped dead, looking at his desk in disbelief.

Client1 had gone.

**AN: Seems like a good place to leave it – very sorry about the lack of action, but I can finally say it'll be along next chapter...**


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Thanks to Henny Penny who wasn't signed in, for her comment about lack of action. I can't _help_ feeling guilty, gal, but thanks so much for the kind words and encouragement!**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 13

Treat Farrier walked slowly across the damp, scrubby grass of Holt Common, trying to appreciate the coolness and the unique smell of the early morning air; trying to let it lift his spirit.

He'd been an idiot; he knew that – for the sake of a few dollars he'd sent his career as a police officer down the tubes, and risked worse. The Lieutenant had been right; it would have been very hard to resist being blackmailed into real criminal activities, much as he'd told himself he wouldn't. He didn't attempt self-justification; the fact that there were many other officers doing it didn't make it OK, it simply meant that there were others as well as him who should have known better.

He was lucky that Kath Wigg was reasonable and compassionate as well as formidable; he knew if it had been up to her second in command, for instance, he'd have been summarily fired, in disgrace, and with little prospect of an honest job afterwards.

(He had no idea that it was his refusal to rat out other cops when subtly given a chance to do so, as well as his eagerness to still think like a cop, and to help, that had the Lieutenant wondering if there was some hope for him after all.)

He'd been a uniformed man all his working life, and he'd entered the police service straight from school... it was the only life he'd ever wanted - he mentally kicked himself again, even harder than the last few times.

"Do what you can," Kath had told him, after outlining a few possible starting points. "Do it like a cop." So... the beat cop thought like a detective. He knew she was interested in the Congressman who'd wrecked Holt, so he rang Joe Da Silva, who was overseeing that site. "Sure," he was told, "I've got work for you. Come now."

He couldn't spot Da Silva among the workers starting up the site for the day, he guessed he was elsewhere, somewhere where houses were already going up. Only sewers here so far, but a hell of a mess made already... He looked at the deep trenches that scarred the rough land, and noticed the beginnings of several offshoots that hadn't been dug out yet but for the first couple of feet. He wondered what Da Silva wanted him to do. He couldn't help thinking all this was a damn shame...

He was hailed from a distance and turned towards the voice, thinking it must be Da Silva, but it was a guy he only knew as Alvin. He suspected that wasn't the man's real name; he had two perfectly Chipmunk upper incisors and a permanent wide grin. However, that grin was nowhere to be seen just now.

"Hey, Treat... so you're the cavalry, then."

"Yo, Al. Damned if I know. Da Silva just said come. Why cavalry?"

"He didn't tell you, then. He's only just told me – man's a first class chiseller, tries to get you to the point where you can't say no before he dumps the garbage on you. There's a truck due, with pre-cast junctions on board." He pointed gloomily to the places where the side trenches has been dug. "Driver's been told not to leave without a check – apparently the last bill wasn't paid."

"Checks bounce," Farrier said, going along with the gloom.

"Yeah. So... I've been told not to let the truck leave without unloading; Da Silva wants those castings at any cost, the Big Boss" he made air quotes, "says so."

"And we're supposed to fix that? How?" He couldn't see the perennially cheerful Alvin as an enforcer somehow.

"Dunno. Whatever, I'm not doing it."

Farrier shook his head. "Nor me. 'S a big step from guarding the likes of Swinson against irate citizens to using force. I never signed up for that." He meant it, and hoped he wasn't being that much of a hypocrite. The expression that crossed Alvin's face at mention of the lawyer's name made the back of the beat cop's neck prickle. How's about that... ten minutes in and he'd struck oil. "What?" he asked, and didn't have to fake a sympathetic tone.

"Ack... that sleazeball thinks nobody else is as smart as him... talks in front of us as if we don't understand English. Doesn't even bother to lower his voice. Him and that Congressman... I tell you, makes me thankful I know _my_ representative's an honest man."

"You're gonna have to tell me the rest of it now, Al."

"Sure," the other man said with a shrug. "They stood just there. About a week ago. Yeah, a week." He pointed to a junction point about fifteen feet away. "Those offshoots hadn't been marked out yet. Wasn't obvious then that they're gonna put houses here no matter what they say. Not that us guys on the site didn't know anyway – we've seen it before. I started listening when Swinson said, _'We won't dig out the side trenches until the last minute.'_

"White said, _'You'd better not. Do it when there isn't an audience; you know I've only publicly supported one drain through the middle of the place, I said it was to provide better sewers for Conklin. And the fact that it was me got the Change Of Use for this land isn't common public knowledge either. I've done my share... don't draw attention to me. You might ask your boss,_ _though,_ _when he intends to pay me my hundred thousand dollars.'_ The bastard did this to line his own pockets. And now they want us to steal a truck driver's load? How damn petty is that?"

"Al... you got any sort of form?"

"Hell, no, what kind of a fool question is that?"

"Just wanted to know if you'd be comfortable talking to the cops about this."

"I dunno... that White's pretty big. Maybe he wouldn't like an ordinary guy ratting him out... or hell, maybe he doesn't worry about us hearing what he says cuz he knows we can't do a damn thing..."

"Yes... we can. And it won't hurt you, I promise. I want you to come and talk to some friends of mine..."

_Friends of mine..._ he thought as he loaded Alvin's dirt bike into the back of his truck._ Kinda_... Being a detective was _easy._.. Whatever the future held, and he'd take what was coming to him, he felt better.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Client1... BB... The most important thing in his life... what the hell? Where the hell? Swinson was rooted to the spot for a moment, then he ran back into his bathroom to see if he'd forgotten taking it in there. He never forgot things... It wasn't there, and he dashed to the firm's main doors, bitterly regretting that he hadn't locked them behind him. The machine was only worth a few dollars to an opportunist thief; it was the access to almost a million dollars for him. There was information on that machine that was nowhere else in the world... Damn, this was impossible! He was hot and cold by degrees, his pulse and breathing erratic, his mind in a disarray such as his his calculating nature was completely unused to.

He began to head down the stairs, thinking that a thief might take that route rather than the elevator, then stopped dead again. From the foot, far below, he could hear loud voices; loud, _official _sounding voices. _Shit_... he'd known they'd find something against him in the end; he just wasn't expecting it so soon... He ran back along the corridor, through the break room and out past the cleaners' stores. Pausing only long enough to check that there were no voices floating up, he ran down the back stairs faster than he'd thought he could, and out to the parking garage. There was nobody in sight, but his heart was in his mouth as he made what felt like an unbelievably long dash to his runabout. Forcing himself to stay calm, and _look_ calm, he drove sedately out of the garage, and turned left so as not to pass the building, heading for he had no idea where.

The FBI agents who'd raced towards the building with Fornell's fury ringing in their ears had encountered a pretty blonde girl coming down the front steps, who'd stopped, wide eyed with alarm at the sight of their guns and badges. "Oh dear... "

"Nothing to worry about, Miss," their leader said, and apologised for swiping her large, stylish organiser bag with his hip as he hurried by. He didn't see her efforts to conceal a grin as she went on her way. She hailed a taxi and disappeared.

If Fornell had been peeved when he found Swinson had got _into _the building without his team noticing, he was incandescent when he was told they'd let him get _out_ again.

The elderly security guard at the front desk could hear his voice from across the lobby as the team leader paced round, cringing, and holding his cell away from his ear. He looked up at the young agent leaning over his shoulder. "Don't breathe down my neck, sonny," he said mildly, "I'm going as fast as I can." The young man jumped back as if stung, and a few moments later, the guard said, "There." He froze the tape he was looking at, that clearly showed Swinson running and stumbling down the back stairs. "I knew someone had gone out the back way – I don't fret if they're not coming in..." He switched cameras. "There ya go..." he zoomed in on the rear of the small car that Swinson stumbled into. "Never knew he had that... drives a Jag usually."

The registration on the city car was unclear; it was parked close to the entrance, and the camera was not able to cope with sunshine and darkness at the same time, but they got a partial number. Armed with that and the number of Swinson's Jaguar, the team put out a BOLO and headed back to face the wrath of Fornell.

Swinson pulled the little car under the shadow of a flyover and sat breathing heavily. He knew they'd be looking for him, but he didn't know if they knew about this car... and although he had most of the details of client1's master account that he'd used BB to empty everything else into memorised, he didn't dare go to an internet cafe to access it. Nothing was written down anywhere, and there were safeguards on that machine to prevent tampering, so if he got something wrong, client1 would lock him out. _Him! _

Besides, if they were watching the other accounts that he'd emptied, if he put some money back into one of them to access it, the feds could trace him through his plastic. He'd defended enough fraud cases in his time to know how easily money could be tracked.

So here he sat, the almost millionaire, penniless. How the hell did this happen? He'd been so clever, and one lousy sneak-thief had wrecked it all. He needed to disappear, and for that he needed money. No questions asked, instant money. He couldn't think of anything, and he couldn't sit here... He should never have trusted in Ackerman's capability, he should never have involved Hastings... And that gave him an idea. If he hadn't felt so cornered, he might have seen it as a pretty stupid idea, but he could think of one person who was nearby, rich enough to help, and who was in his pocket.

He drove to Judge Benjamin Preston's fine colonial home on Beach Drive.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Fornell had calmed down, but only out of necessity. There were no hits from the BOLO on Swinson's Jaguar, and about forty on the little Mazda. There had to be a thousand of them in the DC area alone, and the partial plate didn't do much to cut the number down. Gibbs paced from bull pen to PREHQ and back every couple of minutes, visibly restraining himself, and only calming a little when Kath would murmur something that only he heard.

Jinny had worked out a beautiful piece of logistics, that she called VIDs, detailing what warrants were needed, who'd arrest whom, and where they'd be taken for interrogation, that covered all the Very Important Dirtbags and all the underlings they had enough on.

But Gibbs wanted Swinson first, because none of the others knew the hounds were closing in, and weren't protecting themselves; and anything Swinson could tell them would make getting those warrants easier. . All of the double team who'd met Swinson felt that although he would certainly try to lawyer his way out of trouble, when presented with pieces of crucial evidence, he'd crack. He was the centre of this web of heartless ruination, and many of those he'd corrupted had fallen willingly enough. Gibbs wanted them too.

He couldn't fight a residual anxiety about DiNozzo and McGee either, and he huffed an irritated sigh, that Kath heard, and her level look hit him between the eyes. He huffed again and sat down beside her.

"I know, Swinson will surface, I've gotta be patient."

Kath shook her head slightly. "You were thinking about Tony, Jethro." She shifted slightly on the sofa, so that her hip and shoulder were against his, nudging some of the tension out of him.

"Yeah," he admitted, turning to look at her.

She returned his gaze calmly. "_You_ told _me_ that Tony will do what he believes is right, no matter what. You can't complain at that because it's one of the reasons why you chose him in the first place. He reminds you of someone." He raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. He sure reminds _me_ of someone."

"He's not fit. Neither's Tim."

"So why haven't you sent someone else? Or ordered him to liaise with local LEOs? I'll tell you. Because you know very well that one, Hastings has got to be stopped, two, if you'd told him not to go, he'd have said 'Sorry, Boss,' and gone anyway, and three, you'd trust those two crocks to do a better job than any LEOs you could think of. You _did_ tell him about the account being cleaned out?"

"Sure I did. He wants to know the second Hastings tries to access the account himself – he pointed out that Arthur won't consider Swinson for a moment -"

"Ah. He'll think it was his ex-wife who took the money... or his son. He'll be mad as hell. You betcha the Troublemint Twins are the ones to send after him."

"Where did that damn fool nickname come from anyway?"

"Suits them, doesn't it?"

Gibbs answering smile was wry. "Yeah..." He patted Kath's denim clad knee, and Jinny dropped a paper on the floor and bent to retrieve it, to conceal her grin.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The two crocks in question were following a hunch. Naturally enough, they'd decided to head for Sandybacks, as they both agreed that it was the most likely place that Arthur would head for, and they'd diverted slightly from the route to go by Angela Brock's house. Tim wanted to see the pond that Hastings had fallen into, and Tony certainly didn't have a problem with showing him. As they pulled up on the back road, and he was pointing the spot out to Tim, they became aware of a police patrol car outside a house at the end of the road. They looked at each other, wondering... An officer, seeing their interest in the pond, was looking at them with suspicion. As they got out of the car, they both eased their jackets away from their badges, and the cop's attitude relaxeded a little as they walked towards each other.

A few minutes later they were in the vandalised house, comparing notes with the patrol officers, and the scandalised sister of the house owner, who'd found the mess when she'd called to take in the mail and water the plants. It was the presence of dank, pond-smelly clothes in the shower room that had roused the officer's suspicions when she'd seen their interest in the spot.

There was no doubt that this was Arthur's style; Tim was astonished when Tony didn't insist on taking over the case at once. Admirably, he held his tongue while his SFA simply asked the LEOs what they knew. Not much; but when the female officer's partner returned a few minutes later he had one tiny nugget of information. A teenaged insomniac had seen a Jaguar drive up to the house in the very early morning; a different person, much bigger, had driven it away a few minutes later.

Tony thanked him for the information, asked him to keep NCIS posted, and they left quickly. Tim held himself in until they were back in the car, but as soon as the door was closed he burst out, "Tony... why didn't we take the case? Hastings is _ours_!"

His friend grinned infuriatingly. "Well... same reason we're in my car, not an Agency bus."

Tim thought. He was being invited to figure something here, and to his credit and Tony's secret delight it took him all of five seconds. He laughed out loud. "Sneaky, Tony! OK... there aren't enough cars to go round with all the arrests that are going to happen today, because they're all going to be needed by the arresting agents..."

"And if there aren't enough agents..."

"There aren't enough to come out here to process the scene, when we already_ know_ what happened. So... we get the locals to do our work for us, because we need to be at Sandybacks."

"Elementary, my dear McWatson. As Uncle Clive used to say, _'Why have a dog and bark yourself?' _We don't often catch a break as lucky as that, but now we know -"

"That Arthur's driving Swinson's Jag. That Swinson gave it to him. Why? To throw us off his trail? Does he know we're on to him?"

"To get Arthur off his back?" Tony sighed. "Whatever... he's done us no favours... he's in a car that's as fast as this – sorry, Princess – and he's got a head start. Have to hope the BOLO works, but -"

Tim's cell buzzed, and he answered quickly. "Boss?" He listened for a moment, then disconnected. "It's happened," he told Tony flatly. "Hastings has tried to access his account. He knows it's empty."

Tony nodded, and gunned the Mustang's engine. The car leapt forwards with an eager snarl. "Where?"

"Glenelg. Nine miles from Sandybacks. Thank heavens the family aren't there."

"Amen to that," Tony said softly.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

"So, Thorley, let's get this straight...You want a lot of money from me, right now."

Benjamin Preston's voice was entirely unruffled; Swinson remembered the last time he had spoken to the judge and was puzzled. He didn't answer.

"And if you don't get it, you'll show those photos to... who? My wife? The American Bar Association?"

"I didn't ask for money before; now I need it. I know you wouldn't like -"

Preston was _laughing. _"Thorley, Thorley... those photos were posed with three very helpful young actresses, who were paid well for their efforts. They were a possible ploy in my plans for a divorce; I'm sure the ABA would be amused. My wife did me the favour of leaving anyway; the photos were never that important."

"Then... then why did you... let me..." The attorney gave up, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"It suited me at the time; it doesn't any more." The judge picked up his desk phone in implicit threat, and Swinson turned and fled. As he thrashed the harmless little car up the drive and back along Beach Drive, by now half hysterical with fear and rage as his life crumbled around him, his mind raced in bewilderment. To deliberately allow yourself to be blackmailed made no sense. Why would – and two pictures superimposed at once in his mind.

One: A brand new laptop case, zipped up, the machine clearly inside. It was sitting there in full view, on the desk in the judge's study.

Two: As he'd entered the house, he'd caught a brief glimpse of a young woman, her back to him, going through a door towards the back of the house. He'd assumed she was a housekeeper. She reminded him of someone... Samantha! He screeched to a halt, shaking and swearing. His _ secretary! _His secretary and Judge Preston... they'd taken BB – how long had they known? _How_ had they known... they'd set him up! The cheating, scheming little bitch and that bumptious bastard... he reached into the glove compartment and brought out a small Smith & Wesson revolver. His eyes mad, he turned the car round.

He'd only driven a matter of half a mile when a look in his rear view mirror sent his stomach up to his throat and then straight down to his boots. The car coming up behind him was big and black, and screamed FED. He pushed his foot down to the floor, and the little car did its best, but it had half the horses of the fearsome thing on its tail. The black beast came up alongside him without effort, and he saw that another, similar vehicle had taken station behind him. They passed the entrance to the judge's drive, and kept going.

Thorley Swinson wound down the window and started shooting randomly. The big car wobbled a little as a shot hit the glass of the front near-side window, but continued on past him without slowing. Nobody seemed to be shooting back – until the passenger window in the car behind slid down, and an exotic looking woman he'd seen before leaned out of it. There was no way Swinson could shoot behind him, and the NCIS agent he now recognised, took out both of his back tyres with ease.

The poor, beleaguered little runabout stopped running, and slewed to a halt, with the other car still in front of it. Swinson stuck the revolver through the window and screeched hysterically, "Back off! I'll shoot!"

The driver of the front car stepped out calmly, aiming his police special. "Sure, Mr. Swinson," Ollie Lasz said cheerfully. "It'll be the last thing you do."

"We would rather take you alive," Ziva David added conversationally, "While you're still useful."

Roy Fordham cocked his gun and said boredly, "Let's just get this done. Alive if possible." Three guns, from three angles – Thorley Swinson let the revolver drop through the open window, and banged his head against the steering wheel; the sound of wheezy sobs began to emerge from the car..

Amongst the rubbernecking cars that were making their way past the scene, a luxury taxi and its passengers went unnoticed. With BB, the precious client1 laptop nestled in its new case at their feet, Benjamin Preston and Samantha Carlin clinked champagne glasses and giggled as they headed for Dulles Airport and the West Indies.

**AN: Sorry this has taken a week; I've been doing the Queen Victoria thing like last year. I swear I'm going to set fire to that wig and dance round it as it burns, as soon as tomorrow's over!**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Especial thanks to ytteb, for a neat phrase and a wonderful, whimsical idea. Knaht uoy, ytteb!**

**Oh, and I didn't burn the wig, I gave it to a friend's Boxer pup. Ha! Take that, you rat...**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 14

Jinny Lasz kept one beat-up elbow crutch to hand, in case her right leg ached too much. She found that taking the weight off it when she walked was preferable to taking a strong painkiller, and she knew the old crutch would be with her for a while yet; but not for ever, not like the wheelchair that she'd once believed was her lot for the rest of her life.

She looked across at the couch that had been host to a good few of them for a snatched hour or two during the long night. She knew of Tony's grudge against Agent Sacks; she'd notice the mutual glaring, and Ziva had explained, but she was a kind girl, and although she understood, it wasn't _her _grudge, so she didn't poke the sleeping agent with the crutch. She knew Sacks had been pulling an all-night surveillance on a different case before his boss had pulled him in. She was tired herself, and didn't want to stand up until she had to, so she picked up the crutch, reached over with it and jiggled the plushie that was currently folded under Sacks' head.

"Sacks! Ron!"

"Huh... wha..."

"Ron, it's time."

Credit to the feebie, he leapt up, as Ziva and Roy entered the room, followed a few moments later by Daniel Keating.

"So, who's doing the interview?" Sacks' voice was still ragged from sleep, but his head was clearer than before his nap.

"Gibbs _and_ Lieutenant Wigg," Ziva told him. "Agent Fornell will be present, although, as the FBI have only just been read in, and he feels he does not know enough yet, he says that his role is to sit silently and -" she made air quotes - "'look mean'."

Sacks shook his head gloomily. "He's _feeling_ mean. Our guys let him get away – in front of Gibbs. And no chance DiNozzo won't get to hear about it..."

Ziva smiled slightly. "Oh, he already knows, and no doubt he will get some yardage out of it in the future." Sacks looked mystified.

"Mileage, Ziva," Jinny chuckled. "That's way more than yardage."

"Ah." Ziva tried not to sound satisfied. "But for now, we are all concentrating on the same thing, no? Oliver is in the observation room, as one of the original instigators of this investigation. Chris Coppi has arrived, and the co-ordinator from Maryland State police. Officer Farrier is there too, in case he can add anything to what he hears. The witness he brought with him, David Dexter, AKA Alvin," she held up a forestalling hand as Keating began to explain, "Yes, Daniel, I _have_ seen the cartoon – he could not be permitted to observe, as a civilian, but he is waiting in a conference room and is happy to answer any questions concerning what he might have seen that may arise. The obs room is a little crowded -"

"So I've set up a feed as you asked," Jinny finished. "You can see and hear the interrogation, and there's a voice overlay from the obs room as well. It's also our job to keep Tony and Tim posted!" She turned one of her monitors to a better angle. "Pull up a chair, all, and has anyone brought the popcorn?"

The man who had depended on his urbanity and smoothness, and his lawyer's ability to prevaricate and hide behind the law, had had all of that ripped away by the events of the past few hours. The bedraggled person who sat in the interrogation room now had recovered from his almost hysterical state, but was still the individual who had sobbed tears of fear, frustration and rage against the steering wheel of his abused little car. Since calming down, he'd not said a word. The calculating brain was, in its shambles, still attempting to calculate, but so far couldn't come up with anything coherent to save him.

(Abby now had the Mazda, which was registered to his law firm, Swinson and Perks; once processed for anything it might tell them, it would be returned to the shocked and scandalised Mr. Aaron Perks, who had bought it as a runabout for his staff when they needed to run cross-city errands, and who had always treated it more kindly. The two big black beasts that had pursued it had growled their way back to the Yard, and now stood impatiently waiting for promised fresh victims.)

Kath began by conversationally reading over a list of all the land that had already gone under Prime Real Estate.

"Two hundred and five houses already built... anywhere between three and eight hundred thousand dollars... with four small businesses obliterated, but that's by the by of course... Now, I'm no constructor," she mused, "and I can't do the sums, although we've got people working on it who can... plus, I believe, another five hundred and sixty under construction. You're in a fair way to being a _very_ rich man, Mr. Swinson."

"Or, you were." No harm in rubbing it in, Gibbs thought. What was the phrase he'd thought of earlier? _'Heartless ruination'._.. bit poetic for him... Hell, there was no need to be merciful to the man at the centre of it.

Swinson shuddered at the thought of what he'd lost, but held it together. "I'm only the lawyer," he protested feebly. The man he didn't recognise, who'd been introduced as a senior FBI agent suppressed a rude snort.

"Of course;" the Lieutenant said kindly, "I forgot that. Mind you, a lawyer who can afford to hand over a Jaguar XJ just like that... one of many things we're wondering about. Why _would _you turn that beautiful car over to the likes of Arthur Hastings? No, don't say anything, not yet, we'll find out easily enough; don't worry about it."

The lawyer looked sick. If they knew about the car, what else did they... The policewoman was speaking again. "Now, we know that your boss -"

At last something he could do to protect himself. "I can't tell you about him!" He feigned horror.

"Ah... so it was fear of _him_ that made you run, and threaten the officers who came to invite you in to answer our questions."

"Yes!"

He wished he hadn't said that quite so readily; what was left of the smooth lawyer in him realised he was being led, but couldn't see where.

"Mmm..." Lieutenant Wigg was thoughtful. "Everyone we've talked to says this boss is pretty scary. Has an iron grip on his people... uses blackmail, threats... what's he got over you?"

"Nothing! I'm just the lawyer!"

"You just pass on the orders?" Swinson didn't answer, and twitched when Gibbs shifted impatiently in his seat. "Work with us here, Mr. Swinson. There are a lot of people out there who need arresting, and my colleagues would like to start as soon as possible. You pass on the orders... like ordering Da Silva to order Brock to kill Ackerman? Lot of ordering there."

"I didn't tell them to kill him!"

"You didn't? Your boss did... did you dare to go against him?"

"No... I -"

Gibbs was offhand. "There's that word 'I' again, Lieutenant. DiNozzo thought there was something odd about that."

Swinson looked blank and panic stricken, and the watchers in PREHQ chuckled as Chris Coppi's voice muttered something about fish and barrels.

Kath Wigg nodded, and threw up her hands. "OK, Mr. Swinson, we'll come clean. We already know there's no big boss. We know the orders came from a computer in your possession; when we found that out it just went to prove DiNozzo's hunch was right. We know you're the brains behind this scheme, your legal team (which we recommend you assemble as soon as possible, you're going to need it,) will be presented with all the evidence as soon as they wish...and you're still going down. For the murder of Victor Ackerman among other charges... We just want to make sure we get as many of your friends as possible. So you're going to tell us all about it – starting with where to find the client1 computer."

For a moment, the lawyer sat with his mouth open... then, to their astonishment, he burst into hysterical laughter.

"Where's client1? Where's BB? Don't ask me! Ask that thieving, scheming little tart that took it from my office! On his desk, it was, right in front of me! I saw it and I didn't realise! She took it to him! She set me up! She waited, and she picked her moment, and she didn't even bother to hide at his house! I saw her! She's got it! He's got it! I don't know which of them's got it... they stole it from me! It's mine! They took it... I did all the work and they took it... they took it and it's mine..." He gave up ranting and took to banging his fists and forehead on the table.

Although not inclined to mercy they weren't sadists; they brought him a box of tissues and a cup of tea, and in between sniffs and sobs they got the names of Samantha Carlin and Judge Benjamin Preston. Kath and Gibbs exchanged a curious look, wondering how the judge who'd let Arthur out of prison and Thorley Swinson's PA were connected. No matter; they'd find out.

"It's a blow, though," Kath said in PREHQ a while later. "We know there's evidence on there to incriminate a lot of people who damn well deserve to be incriminated."

"And..." Tony's voice came over the speakerphone, the happy singing of the Mustang's engine in the background, "the whereabouts of the money he was trying to make off with, including Arthur's stash. It'd be nice to be able to get some of that... put some of the damage right... no word on Arthur, I suppose?"

"He's not tried to access the account yet," Jinny told him. "And Swinson said he'd disabled the lojack in the Jag. But we'll let you know, I've already promised, Tony. Where are you?"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. 'Bout a mile from Sandybacks. We'll keep you posted. Ciao, bella Gianetta... bella Ziva... _bellissima_ Katerina... " The women looked at the speaker as the dial tone emerged, shaking their heads and grinning – even Ziva. All the men in the room looked uniformly sour except for Sacks, who kind of set the benchmark.

"Are you done?" Tim's look as he disconnected the call mirrored those of the guys in Preeheck.

Tony's expression was blithe, as he slowed the Mustang down to negotiate the narrow uphill road to Sandybacks. "If you got it..." He frowned, and the cheerful mood collapsed. "Didn't see that coming though... the secretary bird – two more dirtbags to go after. It's getting worse by the hour. And stop scratching your stitches."

Tim looked guilty. "Badder and worser," he agreed. "It's like we've fallen down the rabbit hole. Don't see Arthur as the Mad Hatter, come to think of it... maybe the Walrus..."

"Maybe we could stick his blubbery head down the rabbit hole..."

"Or his backside..."

"Hey, yeah," Tony said, brightening again, (which was Tim's intention; there weren't many things he enjoyed less than a gloomy DiNozzo,) "That way he'd _really _be stuck. It'd look good, too."

The smiles were wiped off both of their faces as they came round the last bend; even from a distance they could see that the front door of the Hastings' home stood ajar. As theMustang shuddered to an angry halt, they could see that the lock had been jemmied off. There was no sign of Swinson's Jag, but they drew their guns and cleared the house, silently and purposefully.

As they made their way round, bitterly taking in the careless, vindictive mess around the place that told them Arthur had been here, they both stopped at once, aware of a sound. It was a rhythmic banging, and it wasn't coming from inside the house. Tony pointed, and Tim said, "The Spencers!" at the same moment, and they ran out of the damaged front door. As they dashed round to the next door neighbours, the banging got louder, and they could hear Sylvia's voice calling frantically for help.

Shouting reassurance, they ran into the Spencers' hallway, through another open front door, although this one hadn't been forced. Again they cleared the house, as quickly as possible, hurrying back to the hall where a shaker blanket chest had been pushed across the door of the walk-in cloakroom. They dragged it away, wincing at the effects that had on their recent bumps and bruises, and yanked the door open, to find Sylvia sitting on the floor, with Spence's head on her lap. They were both wearing pyjamas.

Spence had a lump and a nasty graze on his temple, but Sylvia waved them away when they tried to check him over. "Angina tablets," she said tersely. "Bathroom cabinet."

Only once the magic remedy had been placed under Spence's tongue and he started to look better, did his wife allow herself to burst into tears and thank the two agents. "I might have known it'd be you," she said shakily.

They made hot drinks, and got Spence comfortable on the sofa in the living room, where he said it was only bloody angina and he wasn't going to hospital.

"What about your thick head, then, Spence?" Tony asked, finally getting the chance to inspect it.

"My head's just fine, you cheeky young rip. I'm not so concussed I can't give you a thick ear..."

"Mmm," was the placid reply. "If your vision's good enough not to miss..." He peered into the elderly man's eyes. "Fortunately, I don't think you're concussed at all. But we'll clean that up. Sylv, are you OK? Are you up to telling us what happened? Not that we don't know..."

"I'm fine now we're out of the cupboard, Tony. I only cried to make myself feel better." The two agents grinned; the Hastings family had great neighbours.

They'd been awakened at seven thirty, about half an hour before their alarm usually went off, by the sound of crashing and banging next door.

"We should have phoned the police," Sylvia said. "But no, we _would_ go and have a look first... through the window, that was... we didn't recognise the car, and we didn't think Arthur could have got himself a Jaguar... where would he have got the money from? We didn't notice the noise had stopped... we opened the front door and he was right behind it... he shoved it open so hard... It hit Spence and knocked him over, and he landed on me. Squashed me, you did, you big lunk."

Spence looked mournful. "Enough with the insults," he protested. "First _he_ calls me thick, then my own wife – you going to have a go at me too, son?" He looked at Tim, who'd arrived with a bowl of warm water, cotton wool and Chemilon.

"Not if you keep still, Spence."

"I'll do it, Tim. He'll hold still for me."

McGee nodded. "So then what happened?"

"Well... Spence was a bit out of it, and Arthur started yelling at me. He wanted to know where Patch was, and where Anne was, and I told him I didn't know, which was true, and that they were together and Patch would protect his mother, which was also true. He ripped out the house phone, and asked us where our mobiles were, I said we didn't have any because I was hoping to use mine the minute he'd gone, but he dragged us to the cloakroom and shut us in so I couldn't get to it. I tried to open the door, but even if Spence had been able to help, I don't know that we could have moved it. And I was worrying about Spence because he was having his angina pains..."

The two agents looked at him thoughtfully, and Tony said briskly, "OK, no hospital... but I'm gonna get your family doctor out here. No buts."

Sylvia looked pleased and went on with her story. "I switched the light on, and went through coat pockets, but I couldn't find a watch or a phone, so I didn't know what time it was. I heard him back next door, crashing around again, so I made Spence comfortable and waited. I heard the noise stop, then the car being driven away hard. I just sat there holding Spence, and maybe fifteen minutes later our alarm clock went off at eight. I wondered what to do next, and Spence was a bit better, and he said his steel capped riggers should be there somewhere, and to try to knock a hole in the door, so I found one, and I'd been swinging away for about five minutes maybe, when I heard another car. I'm not much good with them, I only know the noise my Mini makes, but I think I'd know the sound of your Mustang anywhere, Tony. I felt better, and started banging on the wall closest to Polly's."

Tim came back from whatever he'd been doing out in the hall, and picked up the house phone handset. "Good," he said after a brief listen. "Fixed that." He sat down and handed it to Sylvia. "Call your doctor, OK?"

When she'd finished, the two agents stood up. "We have to go back next door, to see if he found anything out. We won't be far away... but I'm sure he won't be back anyway."

"Go on," Spence said. "He's got maybe forty minutes start on you now, and we don't even know where he's going. But he's going after the family, that's for sure."

Tony and Tim both grinned admiringly at the brave old couple, and hurried back next door.

"Slow down. Your ribs are hurting again."

"So's your side. Are _you _slowing down?"

"No, but I've stopped scratching."

"I'm _so_ glad."

"Do you know where Patch and family went?" Tim asked.

"Yeah... Place called Fort Reading, near Lexington. It's -"

"I've heard of it," McGee said. "Thought it might be good to go some day. One of these historic preservation sites where they save old buildings and re-erect them. The fort was already there, so they put all the other buildings round it, and they do things like ploughing with horse teams, and they run some of the oldest steam powered machinery in America. Why there?"

"Because Anne was a historian before Arthur bullied the fun out of her," his partner explained. "She changed her name, and went there to take up a position as an administrator/guide. She loves it, Patch says."

"It'll be open to the public, today, right?"

Tony stopped his examination of the Hastings' computer desk to look at Tim seriously. "Yeah... need to find the website, look at opening hours. If they close at five we're OK – even if he knows where he's going it'll take him eight hours or so, but if it's open in the evening, yeah, we've got the public to think about. I'll call ahead, warn LEOs. Question is, do we risk wasting time if we can't get a flight right away? Will we be just as fast chasing him? Let's hope he doesn't know where he's going."

He was hunting up the Fort Reading website as he spoke, so he didn't see Tim pick up a crumpled paper off the floor, and smooth it out. "No such luck, Tony." He held it out, and the SFA's heart sank as he looked. It was an information flyer for Fort Reading, and in the bright photograph on the front, two guides, smart in their forest green blazers, stood with a group of children. One of the women was Anne Hastings. After all Patch's careful planning, it was that easy.

"We get after him – go by road, right?" Tim asked.

Before Tony could answer, his phone chirped. He listened without saying a word, until , "We're after him." He disconnected.

"He accessed his account, then."

"Tried. Yeah, Tim, we go by road. Jinny's warned the police down there. You tell the Spencers; I'll ask Gibbs to keep the locals off our tail. The arrests have started, btw. They're leaving Fornell to oversee things... Kath and Gibbs are going after client1."

Tim nodded. Good. He went back into the Spencers house just as a car came to a halt; the family doctor. After speaking briefly to Gibbs, Tony patted the hood of his Mustang lovingly. "Well, Princess, you've got a duel ahead with another lovely lady... not so unique as you, of course, but she's fast, and she's got a head start. So, beautiful, let's see what you can do."

**AN: Sorry this has taken so long... I think all that's left is one chapter and an epilogue.**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: USAFChief, thanks SO much for the valued input on aircraft, and the great idea that went with it...**

**I don't know whether patrol cops still use old-fashioned radios on curly wires... couldn't find out, just go with the flow, mmm?**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 15

There were flow diagrams tacked to the walls in Preeheck, and hand-written lists to echo the ones on the various monitors. The one on the big plasma screen was all important, columns marking off arrests as they happened, arresting officers, where held, whether charged...

All over DC, Maryland and Virginia holding cells were filling up, forewarned judges were hearing bail applications, and since the plan had been to alert as few suspects as possible in case they weren't immediately arrestable and went to ground, the first targets were the ones who Jinny had identified as those who wouldn't _get_ bail.

The two Congressmen had been quietly rounded up at their homes; apart from shocked, and sometimes not so shocked family members nobody knew yet, so the Hoover building was so far spared the blessing of media attention.

Police chiefs were investigating allegations of officers not taking complaints seriously; Chris Coppi's chief furiously reported the absence, or possible disappearance, of a whole series of reports that should have existed on the harassment of the canoe school owner. When interviewed by Chris himself, Mr. Wenham had been adamant that he had asked for help many times before his business went up in flames right beside the water he was teaching children to be safer on; he'd given dates of phone calls and copies of letters and emails.

Roy Fordham rubbed his cheekbone reflexively as he listened to his Virginia counterpart's angry voice down the phone; he remembered arresting one of his own department, not so long ago, and simply advised Chris to keep his cool before moving off to another round of arrests. They really needed the information on that laptop, he remarked to Ziva as they headed out yet again. The work load was going to be colossal, and any time they could catch a simple confession would lessen it a little. What was on that computer could make quite a few interrogations superfluous – or at least shorter.

Ziva smiled, but there was something edgy to her expression that Roy couldn't quite identify. "I do not doubt for a moment that Gibbs and Lieutenant Wigg will bring it back. Although I do not know why it was necessary for the chiefs of both teams to go together..."

"When operating on another nation's soil, even with permission -"

"It is polite to send someone of high rank. But two..." She trailed off, grateful that it was Roy she was partnering, not Tony. He would have been grinning the way he always did when Kath was around, and making her twitchy. It was time she stopped letting him do that...

"Carlin and Preston'll be landing in Jamaica soon;" Roy said glancing at his watch. "They were seen boarding a direct flight two and a half hours ago. Three hours fifteen minutes flying time, Jinny said. I wonder if Gibbs and Kath got a flight?"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The only seats available at short notice had been first class. "Shame," Kath said. "We'll take them." They were heading for Isla Grande, Puerto Rico, (which wasn't exactly _near_ where they needed to be, but hey, it was closer than DC,) in the most ease either of them had had in weeks, and she simply counted on Jinny to smooth the way for them to complete their journey. She didn't worry about it, and nodded comfortably against Gibbs' shoulder.

Gibbs didn't sleep at all. The stewardess was happy to make him coffee exactly as he liked it, as often as he wanted, and he spent most of the flight trying not to move suddenly and disturb Kath, wondering how things were going in Washington – and if he admitted it, worrying at least a little about McGee and DiNozzo. Nothing he could do there... he really hated that.

They weren't the smartest looking inhabitants of the first class lounge, and the other passengers looked at them somewhat askance when they were allowed to disembark ahead of everyone else, clipping their guns back on as they went. On the tarmac they were greeted by a young Army crewman from a very nice Cessna UC37, which stood a short step away, engines whining low pitched and softly, like a dreaming puppy.

"My," Kath said, slightly awed, "How did Jinny rustle _that_ up at such short notice?"

"We were already here, Ma'am," the young man told her with a grin, as he led them to embark. "Just delivered General Cowper down for a – well, that's classified, but he's here for a week. Can take you back as far as Hampton Roads first thing tomorrow if your business here is done; we're needed in Norfolk tomorrow afternoon."

Gibbs hesitated all of half a second. "Oh," he said, "We'll be done all right. Might take you up on that, son."

"You'd be welcome, Sir. Now, commercial flight takes one hour twenty-five... we'll have you in Kingston in an hour."

When they were airborne he brought coffee and sandwiches, then left them in very comfortable peace.

The sun was hot, but there was a light breeze blowing across the island airport when they disembarked; it was difficult not to simply enjoy it, and remember there was a job to do. The Lieutenant yawned a little.

"Ya OK, Kath?"

She looked back at the sleek little jet and smiled. (The smart young crewman saluted rakishly as he pulled the steps up.) "It was an experience, Jethro."

Again they found themselves crossing tarmac; this time a dark coloured Land Rover Discovery with blacked out windows stood waiting, with a smartly dressed young man standing beside it. He offered his hand. "Special Agent Gibbs, Lieutenant Wigg... Mark Boraston, from the Governor General's office." As they made themselves comfortable in the vehicle he went on, "Your Secretary of the Navy's been in touch; we appreciate being informed, we've had instances of our allies," he emphasised the word heavily, "being active on our soil without telling us – and we're aware of the urgency of the situation. We'll assist where we can of course, but it's your party."

"Appreciate that," Gibbs said.

"Well," the Brit said philosophically, "We've got our own crooks to deal with; both the Governor and the Prime Minister are happy for you to remove yours! Unfortunately, we got the information a bit late, so we couldn't shadow them from the airport... but three taxi drivers today recall fares that consisted of an older man and a younger woman." He handed them a neatly hand-written note. "These are the addresses they delivered to; where would you like to start?

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Arthur Hastings snarled at, tail-gated and otherwise bullied anyone who got in his way. Most travellers on the Blue Ridge Parkway were moving slowly, sightseeing, which Arthur should have known; it was one of the most beautiful roads in the USA, and if he'd thought ahead, he'd have taken another route. But he hadn't, and his slow progress, as he considered it, wasn't his fault, it was all these dawdling fools... if he hadn't been bubbling with corrosive fury he still wouldn't have cared about the hazy glory around him, although he might have thought of all the houses he wasn't allowed to build on it.

They'd conspired... his son and his arty-farty snooty bitch of a wife, his ex-wife, her lawyer, his bank, the governor of the prison, those damn feds... it was ironic that the only one he _didn't _think of was Thorley Swinson... They'd taken his money, as well as all the other things they'd had while he rotted in prison because a murdering injun had ratted him out... they'd made a fool of him in court, told lies about him... he was going to get what was his, and if he had to kill them all to do it, he didn't care.

It was buying the damn gun that had made him try to use his account – with what he'd blown already, the $250 had made a big hole in Swinson's thousand; he had barely enough to buy gas to get him to Lexington. He was hungry, but he grudged the money for a burger, and was afraid to stop in case they were looking for him. He'd fended one cop off by telling him his name was Thorley Swinson and he was speeding because he was on his way to see a client who needed him urgently.. He hadn't cared about the speeding ticket, he'd never pay it anyway. He was fortunate that the BOLO hadn't reached those parts just yet.

His mood wasn't improved when he realised that in its efforts to give him a pleasant drive, theSatNav had taken him too far south, and he was going to have to cut across to the west at Lexington, Virginia to head for Lexington, Kentucky. (There were many Lexingtons in the eastern half of the USA, but had Arthur thought to specify?) He swore, kicked down a gear viciously, and roared past a camper, carving it up to avoid another coming the other way. What were those freaking things doing on this road anyway? The Jaguar shuddered as he swerved; it really hated this driver.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

The Mustang was doing better; it was being more skilfully, and far more kindly driven... by Tim McGee.

"_Tony... I'll take the first leg."_

_Utter surprise. "What... you want to drive my Princess?"_

"_Gibbs said I had to look after you."_

"_Excuse **me**? I'm not the one with fourteen stitches in my side!"_

_"Sixteen."_

_"See?"_

_Tim rolled his eyes... damn, he was still too easy to catch after all this time. Never mind, he had his own weapons._

"_I've had more sleep than you."_

"_How much more?"_

"_Er... twenty minutes?"_

"_Mc**Gee**..."_

"_It's about seven hours away. What sort of a state d'you think you and your ribs will be in to look out for Lucy when you get there?"_

Tony had looked defeated, handed Tim the key without a word, and now nodded in the passenger seat. He'd never actually thought Tim couldn't handle the Princess, but she was _his _girl... Hey, if it was a choice between the Mustang and Lucy, well, there actually wasn't a choice. And he'd poke and prod any amount to see this side of his friend emerge...

In the absence of any hits on the BOLO the Troublemint Twins had taken a more direct route, aiming for Harrisonburg and Huntingdon; with local LEOs warned off all they had to do was move fast, stay safe and get updates from Jinny. Tony came out of a doze to hear Tim saying goodbye to her. He opened one eye. "So...?"

"The holding cells are filling up, Jinny's system's working fine. Background on Samantha Carlin...only twenty-four and she's got form... Sandra Platt, Cyber-Crimes know of her, computer fraud. They reckon she must have been on to client1 from early days." He huffed, knowing his next words wouldn't make Tony happy. "No word on Arthur; Patch's phone seems to be switched off, Polly left hers, we saw it in the kitchen, remember? Anne doesn't seem to have one..."

"Damn. They need to be warned."

"Jinny's phoned Fort Reading, they say Anne's not there right now, she's supposed to be showing an evening party round later. They'll tell her as soon as they see her. Can't put a BOLO on Patch's car because he turned in the rental and nobody knows what he's driving at the moment. LEOs report Anne's car is on her front drive, but there's no-one at home. They checked."

"Arthur can't have got there yet. They've probably gone shopping or something... We just have to beat him to it and warn them." His words were cheerful enough, but Tim recognised an edge when he heard one. Tony sat up straight. "Anything else?"

"Well... Gibbs and Kath flew to San Juan first class... and they're currently on their way to Kingston Jamaica in a UC37."

Tony looked thunderstruck for a moment, then pouted. "When you or I fly for the job, we perch in webbing slings, looking at cargo and being deafened" he moaned. "Hell, I get pushed out of a Hercules! Gibbs gets a – d'you know what a UC37 is, McStoplookingsosmug?"

Again, Tim rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Tony. Cessna Encore executive jet, military style... this one was at the disposal of a General, no less... then Gibbs and Kath got it." He emphasised the Lieutenant's name very slightly, and Tony stopped pouting and grinned.

"Woo! So... Gibbs and Kath are in sunny Jamaica together..." he grinned. "Does Ziva know?"

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Everybody who was anybody stayed at the Strawberry Hill, which was why Samantha had booked in at the Four Seasons, which to her mind had more dignity, and moved at a slower pace. Mr. and Mrs. Granville, not considering for a moment that anyone could possibly know who and where they were, were happy. Mr. Granville didn't care for the surname much, but when Samantha had suggested they'd need fake passports, he'd taken what his contact had available. In the judicial life he'd just left behind him, there were many such useful contacts.

Mr. Granville sang in the shower, in anticipation of fun with Mrs. Granville, the contents of his suitcase already strewn over the floor.

Mrs. Granville opened her much smaller case quickly, changed her summer crops and top for a sober business suit, twisted her blonde hair under a brunette wig with the skill of practice, extracted the cash from Mr. Granville's wallet, closed her case again, picked up both it and client1, and left quietly, moving down the corridor with poise in her stylish courts, without any of the ditzy teeter she affected as Samantha.

Mr. Granville emerged from the shower, smiling roguishly. "Sam, honey..." He was the second man in twenty-four hours to stop dead when he realised something was missing. A lot was missing... and standing there, clad in only a towel, the elderly Judge Preston, who'd tried many a bunco case, realised in one sinking moment, that the young Miss Carlin had bunked him good and proper.

He ran to the door and yanked it open... to be confronted by two tall people... the man he thought he recognised, the lady he certainly did... she'd brought miscreants before his court many times. He stood rooted to the spot, his mouth open, unable to frame words. Lieutenant Wigg looked down at the towel which had fallen on the floor. "I should pick that up if I were you, Benjamin."

Ex-judge Preston tottered back into the room and sat down on the bed. Like Swinson before him, he was almost incoherent, but he did full-blown rage far better than tears and temper. The agent and the cop got the message; they only waited long enough for a hotel security guard to come up and discourage Preston from any thoughts of flight, before hurrying back down to the lobby. A quick chat with the doorman told them all they needed to know.

"_Oh yes, definitely the same girl... same smile, same legs, same perfume... not the first time I've seen it. Arrived with an older man as a blonde, left by herself not half an hour later as a brunette. Grey business suit, matching shoes and purse. Valise, business bag. Heading back to the airport in a taxi."_

Mark Boraston had already checked out the passports, got the assumed name, and assured them that the lady wouldn't get off the island, and Gibbs was actually chuckling as they climbed back into the helpful Englishman's Land Rover. He got two curious stares, and was in a sufficiently mellow mood to explain – always did seem to be like that around Kath...

"I was thinking of a case we had before Christmas a couple of years ago. It was as tangled as a bag of noodles... involved gold that had been stolen three times. By three different people...Took some figurin'. Just thinking, first time I can recall something being stolen twice by the same person. She's got chutzpah..."

The lady in question, Sandra Platt, AKA Claire Betancourt, AKA Sandie Lorrimer, AKA Samantha Carlin and a few others, and currently AKA Cynthia Granville, sat sipping her latte in the departure lounge at Norman Manley, and smiling to herself.

Her method had always been to take work as a secretary or PA, and become instantly indispensible, until she had all the ins she needed to whatever information was available and useful – she was _very_ good with computers, and at getting people to confide in her, sweet girl that she was. She'd depart with the contents of bank account, numbers and passwords of safe deposit boxes, material for blackmail... become another person and on to the next little gold mine.

She'd had no idea when she'd seen her new boss locking a lap-top in a drawer before leaving the office to visit an imprisoned client, just what a _big_ goldmine she was about to discover. She was staggered by the size of the crooked operation she found, but having cracked Swinson's encryption before he got back from Offenburg, she'd realised she needed help with this one... at least to get out of the country and disappear for rich, blissful ever.

So... befriend the judge who'd given her a suspended sentence as Sandra, and who hadn't a clue who she was now, but who was as venal as blazes; let him see visions of a life in paradise with his young 'wife'... Not one, but two fall guys; it was exquisite.

Her flight to the Virgin Islands was called, and she rose at a leisurely pace and sauntered towards the gate – only to find herself spun neatly back the way she'd come by two people who came up to flank her. The man relieved her of her business bag without a word. The woman smiled. "Hello, Sandra. Glad we managed to catch you. There are so many people just _so_ eager to see you again..."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

It was almost five pm. Gibbs had taken the US Army up on their kind offer of a lift home early tomorrow morning; it was altogether preferable to taking the prisoners on a commercial flight, so they didn't bother to seek one. Mark Boraston had dropped them back outside the Four Seasons; the island police had offered the 'Granvilles' overnight accomodation. Kath had updated Jinny, who'd told them exactly how to send all the data on client1 to her.

"Got it!" she'd yelled triumphantly, and Kath had held the earpiece away from her head.

"Ouch, kid!"

"Sorry, Kath... but now you can chuck the thing in the sea or watch movies on it... no no no, I don't mean that! Don't lose it, but even if you did, we're fine. Tobias says thanks, Roy and Ollie and Ziva would say hello but they're questioning people -"

"What about the crocks?"

"No word on Arthur... he's got SatNav and we think he's keeping to back roads... T&T are about thirty minutes out from Lexington. We'll keep you posted." Was there the hint of a giggle as she said, "See you in the morning"? She disconnected.

Gibbs looked placidly at his ad hoc partner. "Ya want to get something decent to eat, Kath?"

She grinned broadly back at him. "Well, that sandwich on the li'l plane was nice... but small... we can eat, then there's a hotel room to... process..."

Gibbs returned the smile. "Judge Preston sure won't be needing it..." Kath threaded her arm through his, and they wandered away in search of a restaurant.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Damn... he'd done it again. Coming out onto a main highway, after bumping the unhappy, protesting Jaguar over badly paved local roads, Arthur had put his foot down... and not looked in his rear mirror. The shadows were lengthening, and he might not have been aware of the Kentucky State Police vehicle until the blue lights went on, but he could sure see it now. He debated trying to out-run it, and for a half mile or so, his speed actually increased, but then he thought of helicopters and road blocks, and things that stood between him and what was rightfully his.

The patrol officer walked unhurriedly towards the car. "May I see your driving licence, Sir?"

"Ah... officer, I kinda left it at home. It's in my other jacket."

"OK... name, please, Sir?"

The cop was old enough and well experienced enough to both see and hear the momentary hesitation.

"Thorley Swinson, Officer."

That rang a bell in the officer's mind, although he didn't give anything away. "Get out of the car please Sir..."

"Aw, Officer, I'm sorry I was speeding... kinda in a hurry... just give me the ticket, and I'll be on my way."

"Sir, I need you to get out of the car, and wait by it until I check things out. Thank you. Now, please just wait a moment. I'm sure there won't be a problem."

The cop reached into his car and brought the radio out through the window. Watching his face as he spoke to his dispatcher, Hastings knew he'd been made. Driven by impatience, panic, and a total inability to make decisions rationally, he reached into the Jag as the officer began to walk back to him.

Less than fifteen miles away, Tony had taken over the wheel and the hands-free set, and now it was Tim's turn to doze. He heard the chirp of the phone, and DiNozzo's voice drifted cheerfully through his haze.

"Hi Jinny... no kidding? A judge? In a bathtowel? And the lovely Samantha... _Really_? They have? Oh yeah... believe it... O-_Kay_, sweetie."

The downright gleeful tone of his voice made Tim turn his head. "They've got them then? And client1?"

"Oh yeah. But they can't get back until tomorrow morning" His grin was huge.

"So Gibbs... and Kath..."

"Are together... in Jamaica..."

"Overnight... in Jamaica... together..."

"Yeah," Tony finished triumphantly. "Well, the judge had a hotel room booked already. Be a shame to waste it."

Tim thought for a moment. "Hey, if the Boss is on down time... be a shame if he'd been alone..." They both laughed and sank into fascinated thought, which was interrupted by the phone again.

"Hey again... yeah..." The Mustang leapt forwards with a snarl as Tony trod involuntarily on the gas pedal. "Yeah... have they got him? Shit... No, we're nearly there. Keep us posted, gal, anything at all. Sure we'll be careful... Wait, wait... Jinny, have you told Gibbs? Well _don't!_" Don't let anyone tell him. Promise me. _Promise_. Good girl..."

By now Tim was sitting up as straight as his partner had been earlier. "Tony, what?"

The green eyes were bleak. "Tim... they think Arthur's shot a policeman."

**AN: Well, when I said one chapter I didn't actually mean one chapter, as such... OK, I can't estimate for cupcakes. I'll just keep going until I'm done and not make any more silly predictions... **


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Apologies for Arthur's language again.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 16

If Officer Bill Fargo had any chance at all, it was thanks to the horrified dispatcher who heard the shot and didn't waste time shouting, _'Bill, Bill, speak to me...'._ Colleagues and an ambulance were there ten minutes later, to find the cop slumped against his car, hands still tightly clamped round his upper leg even although by now he'd lost consciousness.

Nicked in the femoral artery, he faced surgery to save his leg, if they could first save his life, threatened as it was by hypovolemic shock. Jinny pushed her chair back from her desk and buried her face in her hands; a surge of pain shot through her legs as she remembered, and she felt sick for a man she'd never even met, two States away.

The next pang of worry to hit her was for Tim and Tony, too far away for their friends to help, and she felt a shudder of guilt at her relief that it wasn't Ollie down there in Kentucky. All the other arrests had gone like clockwork, even the ones in Jamaica – had it, in the end been such a good idea to send two injured agents after the one person in all this who was looking to be truly dangerous? She shook her head. Not even Gibbs could have stopped Tony...

She wondered if they should have been more specific in their warning to the staff at Fort Reading – it had been a choice between the bald truth and unduly alarming people. She decided to check that the local police had understood all the facts. Arthur Hastings, the man they all thought was too much of a coward to do anything, had shot a cop...

A light step crossed the room, and Ziva said anxiously, "Jinny, are you all right?" As she raised her head, she saw the Israeli agent put a sheet of paper down on her desk but push it out of reach for now.

"Oh... I'm OK... have you heard the latest on Arthur?" Ziva pulled over the chair recently vacated by Daniel Keating, who'd gone back to the basement for a brief sleep. She sat beside Jinny and listened seriously to her update.

"Well," she said finally, "We will just have to hope that Officer Fargo will receive just as good treatment as you did. If they could save you, they can surely save him." Jinny nodded wanly, and Ziva went on, "You said Tony gave orders not to tell Gibbs?"

"Yes. He and Kath can't get back until morning; I think Tony just wanted them to enjoy their unexpected down time without being hassled. I mean, what could they do?"

Ziva didn't answer immediately. For the first time, she clearly understood Tony's good intentions, and smiled. Yes, everything was fine. "Nothing," she agreed. "It is good for them to get some... rest." If Jinny noticed the tiny hesitation, she gave no sign of it.

"He and Kath will be back here by 10 am with their prisoners; by then it should all be over. Lord, I hope so. What did you bring me?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a break for a while first?"

They all needed a break, but nobody was taking one. (Except for Keating, whose elbow had slid off the edge of the desk twice. 'Never mind,' Jinny had said heartlessly, 'At least you didn't faceplant your keyboard. Who knows what you'd have lost! Daniel, go and take a _proper_ rest.'

"No, Ziva."

"Well then, it is a list of questions that have arisen during various interrogations, that we would like you to attempt to find answers for in the information from client1. It is a high order, no?"

"Very high," Jinny agreed. "A _tall_ order... but hey, nothing's too high for Cadogan..." She reached for the phone. "Just got to check on something with the Kentucky police, then I'll get to work."

"Is there any way that I can help?"

"Sure... prioritise these? Thanks..." Glad to have a challenge that would occupy their minds, the two women set to work.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Kath and Gibbs sat on a low wall on a low hill, watching the sun dropping into the sea; the stuff of dreams. The restaurant had been welcoming, the jerk pork delicious, the music catchy, and neither one could recall being so far away from the reality of who they were, and happy about it, in a long time.

Finally Kath spoke. "I don't _want _to hear from Jinny... thought we would have by now."

Gibbs laughed, a soft rumble in his throat. "Oh... that'll be DiNozzo."

"Tony?"

"He'll have told them not to call."

"Ahhh... he's a good guy, Jethro."

"Mmmm." Gibbs didn't speak for awhile, then said thoughtfully, then took her hand in both of his, interlacing their fingers. "Ya happy with this, Kath?"

"What?"

"We don't see each other in ages, then..."

Kath chuckled. "I loved Bill. You loved Shannon. It'll never be any different. But you're there if I need you. I'm there any time you need me. And you know I don't mean just 'this'. You know 'friends with benefits' could have been coined for us? If I ever need more, I'll give you first refusal."

Now it was Gibbs' turn to laugh again. He never seemed to grin as much as in Kath's company. He turned his head and smiled at her, and his breath hitched just a little as he noticed, for the first time ever, the red-gold glints in her light brown hair, where the setting sun shone on her.

She accepted the fond look for what it was; this was what they had, and it was good, and it was all that they needed. "Come on," she said, in the tone she usually reserved for DiNozzo, "We've got a room to process."

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

By the time the Troublemint Twins by-passed the outskirts of Lexington and started on the short journey south to Fort Reading, the sun had set. The area was hotching with cops, and Tim, usually much the more patient of the two, growled in frustration.

"We've been asking them to take this seriously all day, and it takes a cop being shot to mobilise them. If they'd woken up earlier on the poor guy might not be in hospital now."

Tony nodded. "If they pull us over, I'm likely to deck someone, even though I feel bad for their guy. There's more than him at stake here..."

"And now Arthur's got a gun. And he's used it. Tony..." Tim trailed off awkwardly, not knowing how to say what he wanted, or even if he should be saying it.

Tony took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at him seriously. "Yeah?"

"If... if it comes down to one of us... shooting Lucy's grandfather... look, I'll try to make sure it's me, OK?"

He heard his partner's breath catch in his throat. The SFA nodded his acknowledgement, but he took two or three thoughtful breaths before he answered. "See how it pans out. I won't hold my fire and get you shot, just to keep that old bastard's blood off my hands." He sighed. "But hey... thanks, McGee."

There was silence in the car until the phone buzzed again. This time, since Tim was wide awake by now, Tony put it on speakerphone.

"_Tony? This is Ziva. You seem to have made up a great deal of time. We have you at less than two miles away from Fort Reading."_

"That's right, Ziva. Amazing what the Princess can do... Be there in a moment. Anything we need to know?"

"_Oh yes. The local police have found the Jaguar abandoned on the road coming in from the south, about a mile away from the fort."_

"How long ago?"

"_They have just located it; they informed us at once. They wished to know if you wanted to go and take a look. I told them that an empty car was of no interest to you, and they should go and find the driver."_

"Good girl. That's the least they deserve."

"_But Tony, I am afraid that means that he is closer to the fort than you are. We must hope that the family are not there."_

"Yeah... my gut says they are, Zi... can you warn the locals to stay well clear unless they spot him and he's alone? They should leave this to us."

"_I have done that – he is ours before he is theirs. And I have said nothing to Gibbs."_

"You're a star. Hey, I can see the lights up ahead... and whaddayaknow, two cruisers sitting right outside the main gate with their blues flashing."

"Too little, too late," Tim added.

"Yeah. Going off the air now, Zi... we'll keep you posted."

_"Take care, both of you."_ She disconnected.

She sat looking at the phone for a while. She'd personally, painlessly extracted a full confession first from Congressman White and then from a belligerent US Naval Commander – who still didn't think that accepting a free holiday in return for using a Hercules to import cheap building materials was anything to complain about, and she was tired. She had reason to be satisfied with her own part in this; she could put other suspects on ice, go home and sleep, and begin again in the morning. Jinny wouldn't, Ollie and Roy wouldn't, Tobias and Sacks were still in the building; and the one thing, she knew, that kept them all there was the fact that down in Kentucky it wasn't quite over.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

Down in Kentucky, indeed, Tony was hanging onto his temper. The Mustang had slid to an unfussy halt beside the police patrol cars, and as they'd approached the officers, they'd seen a man in the mint-green shirt of the Museum's staff, talking animatedly with them.

"Are you sure you were wearing it, Sir?"

"I _wasn't _wearing it, I told you; it was over the back of my chair, and now -."

Tony and Tim exchanged glances; having seen the picture of Anne in her forest-green blazer over that mint-green shirt, they knew what was missing, and had a dreadful suspicion as to why.

"Look Sir, it's only a jacket. We've got a fugitive at large here -"

"Who's probably wearing the 'only a jacket,'" Tony said flatly. "I believe that's what the gentleman is trying to tell you."

Tim held his badge out to forestall any 'who-the-hell-are-you' comments. "How long ago did you miss the blazer, Sir?"

The man turned to him with relief. "Keith Sinclair, Deputy Curator," he said. "I came down here after a message from your HQ to cancel Anne's evening party, and to warn her. I walked around the site and couldn't find her, and then noticed my blazer was gone. Who _is_ this man? What should I do?"

"He's Anne's ex-husband. Probably took your jacket to be inconspicuous – he thinks. What should you do... have you cleared the museum?"

"Yes."

"All the buildings?"

"Half an hour ago. I've not checked inside the buildings since. Should -" The sound of a shot cut him off.

"Where did that come from?" Tony asked urgently, as Tim spun round trying to locate the sound.

"Britton's Barn," Sinclair said promptly, pointing to a substantial wooden building fifty yards away.

"Thank you. Stay away. Kill your lights, and don't let anyone in," he added sharply to the four patrol-men, then whirled away. The two agents set off at a run, drawing their guns.

The double doors, wide enough to allow a wagon to enter, were closed, and light shone underneath. As the agents moved warily alongside, they could hear the familiar blustering tones inside, and although there were no windows to the structure, only a loading door high up under the roof, they got a good idea of what was going on.

Anne Hastings' voice was thin and high and afraid, but there was also a thread of defiance and anger there. "It doesn't matter what you say to me... I haven't got your money. I don't _want _your money, Arthur."

"You don't want my money? Damn you all for lying scum! Where's it gone, then? You fucking cheated me, all of you, you scheming bastards, you got me sent to prison, and it was 'Oh, Arthur, don't worry, we'll look after you, and what do you do? Divorce me like I don't matter! Me! You're my wife, you hear? My ever loving, for richer for poorer wife! So you do as I say, _wife_, and tell me what you've fucking done with my money!" The rant was punctuated by stomping and crashing; it sounded as if the carefully rebuilt and restored old barn was being systematically wrecked.

"She hasn't done anything with it, Dad..." Patch's voice, tight with pain. "Your bank had charge of it, like you wanted... we didn't -"

"Don't call me Dad, you ungrateful bastard! You want me to shoot you again? Huh?"

"Arthur!" Anne again, frantic. "You can't! It was an accident... you can't do it deliberately..." she screamed with pain, and the scream was cut off.

"We gotta get in there," Tony hissed furiously. "No windows... he's probably watching the door..."

"They sometimes have chicken doors..."

"Where'd we find one of those?" They were trotting round the barn looking for anything that might help. "And I'm not exactly chicken sized..."

"Here," Tim said. "Right here."

The aperture was big enough for a dog, or a fox to go in or out, so Tony wondered why it was called a chicken door, even as he tested its strength. He shook himself angrily, and concentrated. The door sagged inwards by a foot or so, and beyond it the light was dim. "Good," Tim whispered over his shoulder. "Means it's not in full view of where the lights are."

Tony nodded, and looked his friend in the eyes. The look said 'my way, no arguments'. Tim looked resigned. "What do you want me to do?"

"Go back, somewhere near the main doors, and make a hell of a noise. I'll go in this way. After that, we play it by ear." Tim frowned, but nodded. "Hey... go on. I know you've got my six, McGoinventsomething... we'll be fine."

Tim nodded curtly, and disappeared. Tony pushed again at the small door, stopping as soon as his efforts caused a slight creak. He waited, and a few moments later whatever it was that McGee did, it was impressive. A metallic crashing and rolling sound was followed by a loud thump as something hit the opposite side of the barn to where he was. As soon as the noise started, he pushed the door hard, and it opened all the way with a protesting groan.

Tony doubled up and crept through in time to hear Arthur say, "Go and see what that was."

Polly answered coldly, "You go look. I'm not leaving Patch."

Tony tried to tune out the stream of invective that that provoked, as he inched himself round the wall of the horse stall he found himself in. He took in the whole scene in one practised look, and grimaced.

The room was brightly lit; the museum having installed discreet but strong lights. He was glad to find that he was in deep shadow himself, beneath the half-floor of the hayloft. In the middle of the floor Patch lay propped up in his wife's arms, gripping his thigh in much the same way Tony had been told the injured cop had done. As far as the SFA could see, the injury wasn't as serious as Officer Fargo's; there wasn't so much blood, and Patch was conscious and angry. Beside them, Lucy slept in her carrying chair. Polly was trying to stay between her and Arthur, who stood a few yards away gripping his ex-wife none too gently by her wrist, and waving the second-hand gun around with no thought at all of the possible consequences.

"I said go look -"

"And I said no."

Tony winced; it would have been better to go along with the lunatic for now, but the lioness had seen her mate shot, and wasn't in a compliant mood.

Arthur looked round wildly, then shoved Anne away from him. "Fine. I'll fucking look myself, and you three'll sit tight and behave while I do." Oh no, no, no, Tony thought, as the big man scooped his grand-daughter out of her chair and carried her towards the step ladder up to the hayloft.

"Put her down, you bastard!" Polly leapt forward, but was stopped at least for a moment, by the gun aimed at her, then at her husband. She hesitated, as Arthur climbed up to the loft and peered out through the loading door. Tony hoped desperately that there was nothing to see. Eyes on her daughter, Polly started forward again while Arthur's attention was elsewhere, and the agent knew he couldn't let her. It was time for him to act.

He stepped out from the stall, finger on lips, and two of the three people down on the dirt floor kept their cool and didn't react. Anne bit off a scream of alarm, and Tony ducked out of sight again.

"What the hell's the matter with you? Sheeyut, if there's one thing I can't stand it's screaming women... "

"You hurt her wrist when you dragged her just now. It's still hurting," Patch snarled, thinking quickly. He watched as Tony used the distraction to shin up one of the roof pillars. "Dad, bring Lucy back down here. Please! D'you really want to hurt her?"

"Ha!" The older man pointed the gun down at his son again, and at his wife who stood, rigidly beside him, eyes still on her sleeping child. "Where's my money, huh? You want me to care about you? And her? Why should I do that? Huh?Tell me what you've done with it! You show me -"

"Hey," a cold voice behind him said, "Pick on someone your own size." He spun round, lifting his gun, to find himself facing Tony's.

The old bully yelled "Fuckin' DiNozzo!" and stood rigid with shock for a moment, then his reaction put him beyond redemption in Tony's eyes. He simply held Lucy in front of him. "Come on, gigolo... you wanna try shooting me?"

Tony looked at him bleakly. "You know I wont." He snapped the safety catch back on his Sig. "But if you hurt my god-daughter... if you even frighten her... I'll give my gun to her mother."

He waited a long moment to let that idea sink in. Arthur's eyes bulged. Tony held up a finger. "Hey, good idea, DiNozzo.!" He flashed his most brainless, frat-boy grin, which had the desired effect of unnerving Arthur somewhat. "Here, Pol." He tossed the weapon down the twelve feet and out in a broad arc to where Polly still stood vibrating with anger. She caught it, but she looked at him as if he were crazy.

Hastings regained his composure with his perceived upper hand, and laughed. "So what ya gonna do now, hotshot?"

"Well, I don't know, Arthur, I'm going to suggest that you stop using your grand-daughter as a shield, and give her to me."

"Y'are? Well, I'm gonna suggest I put a bullet in your stupid brain!"

Down on the ground, Anne Hastings whimpered, and the sound drew Tony's eyes downward for a moment. He saw Patch still putting pressure on his wound, the denim jeans wet around the area, and he remembered the wounded policeman. A strange thought occurred to him. "Have you cleaned that gun since you bought it?"

"What?"

"Have you cleaned the gun?" he enunciated clearly, as if talking to a dim elderly relative. "By the looks of it no... well, you wouldn't. It's a cheap, nasty little thing, why would you want to look after it? It won't shoot straight, even if you can. Pulls down and to the left. Which is why you managed to shoot two people in the leg when you were probably aiming for their heads." He had no idea if that was true, but he only had to keep Arthur occupied a little while longer.

"You've been lucky. Next one's likely to get jammed up the spout and blow your hand off." He almost laughed as Hastings peered at the gun in puzzlement. "Me, I'd be happy to let you try, but see, I'm not going to let you hurt Lucy. Or anyone else."

"How you goin' to fuckin' stop me?"

There was a click, and Hastings felt cold metal against his ear. "He's not. I am. It's a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hastings. You're under arrest. Now, drop the gun, and give Lucy to DiNozzo."

Hastings didn't react at all at first. Tim jabbed his ear to remind him he should. Arthur's face grew beetroot red, and the gun fell from his fingers. "That's a start," Tim said, as coolly as before. "Now give –" he stopped. Something was... odd... Hastings began to speak, but they couldn't make out the words, his balance teetered, and one side of his mouth began to droop. And then he dropped Lucy.

It was completely unexpected. Tony acted before the thought had even registered. As the relaxed, sleepy little body fell bonelessly out of the man's arms, heading for the edge of the loft and the floor twelve feet below, the agent threw himself to get there first. He heard Polly scream "Lucy!", knowing she couldn't get there in time, wrapped himself round the little girl, twisted himself onto his back in mid air, slid over the edge and kept going down.

The impact was every bit as nasty as he'd expected on the short journey south; the floor was hard, and his right shoulder-blade told him so. "It's only twelve feet... it's only twelve feet... I wish I could breathe... oh, hello, little lady..."

Inches from his face, a sleepy Lucy was giggling at him.

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Let me just say that I **_**know**_** I've misquoted the Scottish Play... it may be a Briticism, but I like it.**

**Last chapter, including epilogue; I've had fun with this marathon, but I'm relieved to be nearing the end.**

Prime Real Estate

Chapter 17

He floated slowly to the surface, recognising the feeling as damn good painkillers, but not remembering too much of why...

His nose twitched, seeking out and not finding the familiar medical smell. Hmm... there was a soft murmur of voices, a very soft background vibration, and the faint hum of machinery, but it didn't say hospital. He took stock; he lay on his left side, and although he was under a blanket, he was clothed... ah, the sweet sensation of his ass _not_ hanging out of a nightie... and his right arm felt as if it were stuck to his chest. He tried to move it away, and the attempt sent a small stab of pain through his back, in the region of his right shoulder. _Well,_ he thought, _guess that'd be worse if they hadn't given me something. _

He'd landed on it... and his backside, and banged the back of his head, and knocked all the breath out of him – but it hadn't seemed so bad, had it? And Lucy had been smiling at him, so that was OK... But what then? He cracked one eye open, then the other, and grinned. His distance vision cleared a little, while his close up focus remained elusive, and he recognised the long, receding shape of an aircraft fuselage. Well, not that long – and no ordinary aircraft...

He remembered a ride on another executive jet, (conveniently filtered out of his very selective memory when he'd moaned to Tim about Gibbs' good luck – it's not a very satisfying grumble if you have to qualify it - ) and knew that somehow, he knew not how, he'd hitched a lift on the Boss's ride.

At the back two very unhappy looking people sat glaring at each other; an elderly man and a young blonde woman, both cuffed and both looking ready to kill. The judge and his popsie, wannabee international idle rich... Opposite them a large young Military Policeman sat, completely at his ease in spite of the atmosphere.

Closer up... ah yes, the murmur of voices that had been in the back of his mind resolved into words.

"...that we know so far, Jethro. There are the half built houses... do they use some of the money from client1 to finish them? Knock them down? Jinny says tracing all the people that that nearly-a-million belongs to is going to be a challenge... who's going to oversee it? Who's going to see that the ones who need justice get it?"

"And who's going to keep sharks away from it who recognise a grey area when they see one, and know how to exploit it..."

" Had an idea on that... for Jinny; but I'll keep it under my hat until I've asked her. Whatever - reckon we'll be watching it every step of the way."

The conversation was unhurried, he decided... his slowly clearing sight revealed Kath's hand held loosely in Gibbs' – there was no underlying tension, so he thought all must be well; but things were still tugging at his mind; he needed to fill the gaps before he could relax. Patch had been shot... but Polly had been angry not scared... Lucy was safe; his heart beat a little faster: Lucy was _safe _– and Anne hadn't been dragged up into that loft with her... Probie! Where the hell was he? He'd been up there... hadn't he taken Hastings down? Why wasn't he on the plane with them? Forgetting all his calm rationalisation of a moment ago, he sat up with a cry of alarm. "McGee!"

Everything hurt, he couldn't help the gasp he let out, and two astonishingly gentle pairs of hands laid him down again.

Gibbs' grin was amused, and even fond... nah, it had to be the painkillers making him imagine things. "McGee is fine, DiNozzo. Although he refused to go to hospital. So did Patch Hastings... how the hell is it that your worst habits rub off on people?"

Tony tried for wounded. "Boss..." he said reproachfully.

"Yeah, well, so did you," Gibbs growled unrepentantly. "Although when we touch down at Hampton Roads, Ducky will be waiting, and you _will _go to Bethesda."

Tony latched on to the first remarks, to the exclusion of all else. "So... why did he need to go... where_ is_ he?"

"Ya don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Dammit, DiNozzo... ya _don't _remember?"

"Er... concussion?"

"Why am I not surprised. I've got a five year old on my hands here -"

Tony was grinning through an analgesic haze, and Kath decided to intervene; these two could keep this up indefinitely. She eased out of her seat and sat on the floor to bring herself to his eye level. "I could sit up," he protested.

"I wouldn't advise it. We sat you up to strap you in for take off, and you were muttering about your backside – something about your father being angry – it's black and blue..." he couldn't resist raising his eyebrows - "And no, I haven't looked. But so's the right side of your back, and your right leg... What's the last thing you _do _remember, DiNozzo?"

"Landing," he said promptly. It was only Gibbs he enjoyed winding up. "It bloody hurt. I mean, really, it was only twelve feet... Lucy was OK. She laughed. McGee had his gun in Arthur's ear... the old bas -"

"Ssh. Tim told us what happened. Hastings had a severe stroke." She watched the grin vanish, and saw something intensify in his eyes. She took his hand, and looked at him steadily. "A very nasty life ended with a whimper, not a bang. He died in the ambulance; the one everyone else refused to get in and travel with him."

"Even Patch?" Tony's voice was a hollow whisper.

"Even Patch. He didn't actually _say _that he wouldn't ride with his father, he just said it was a flesh wound, he was a doctor, and he was staying with his family. Tim had popped three stitches climbing up the same way you did into the hayloft – he said Patch could fix it and he was staying with his friend."

Tony was silent. He managed a nod, and finally told them, "He offered to be the one to shoot Hastings. So it wouldn't be me."

Kath nodded, and squeezed his hand before releasing it. "He didn't tell us that."

"Didn't think he would."

Gibbs joined Kath on the executive carpet, and Tony noticed as he did so that there was a laptop in a solid, protective case beside his seat. Knowing the Boss's likelihood of taking a PC onto a plane, he knew this must be the infamous client1.

"And as for _you_," the Marine said in a peeved voice that Tony _thought _was affected but couldn't be sure, "You volunteered to ride in the same bus, to, I quote, 'make sure the bugger is actually dead'. Nobody was sure at the time."

"He _dropped_ Lucy, Boss!"

The peeve had disappeared, and Gibbs' voice was soft. "I know, Tony. Needless to say the medics wouldn't allow it after that, and you said fine, and not to send for another ambulance, if nobody else was going, neither would you."

"At which point," Kath took up the story, "They changed their tune and started saying that you didn't know what you were saying and they should restrain you and take you for your own good. Which was when McGee threatened to arrest them, and told them to go and deal with the patient they'd got. They left thinking NCIS is staffed by lunatics."

By now Tony's spirits had, not surprisingly, lifted again, at least a little. He smiled slowly, and Gibbs went on, " You wouldn't let them look at you, you said you belonged in DC and you weren't staying here, and tried to stop Patch from taking a look at you. He guilted you out by reminding you that he was hurt too, and that if you fought him you were making him worse."

"I did?" He honestly didn't recall any of that.

"Polly told you you weren't seven years old." He finally took pity on his bewildered SFA. "You were _concussed,_ DiNozzo. Apparently you all trooped back to Anne's house – Lucy didn't want to let go of you, apparently – and they strapped your arm up because Patch was pretty certain your shoulder-blade had a fracture, and he still wants you to get your ribs checked out for further damage. He repaired McGee's stitches and fixed his own leg and Anne's wrist, and then I'm told the ladies kept a devoted concussion watch over you for the rest of the night."

He folded his arms and looked accusingly at DiNozzo, which was difficult, even for Gibbs, while sitting on the floor. "McGee let Jinny know, and told her that your instructions were not to tell me, right?"

Tony was unfazed; he hadn't doubted for a moment that it was the right thing to do, and he didn't doubt now. He looked the Marine in the eyes with that same lazy smile, and said, "Didn't you enjoy your down time, Boss?"

Gibbs huffed softly. "Tony... I didn't even know you'd been hurt – again – until we were in the air and a crewman told me we were making a stop at Lexington. Polly brought you onto the plane, doped up to the eyeballs."

"Which was the first time you could have actually done anything, Boss."

Gibbs shook his head wryly. "I guess... "

Tenacious D returned to the beginning of the story. "Boss... where's McGee? Why didn't he come? He did good, Gibbs... What aren't you telling me?"

Gibbs was definitely holding out... McGee had been fine last time he'd seen him, taking down Hastings, why _would_ the Boss hold out?

Kath took Tony's hand again, which should have been calming, but it made him feel ten times more alarmed, until she said, "He's_ fine_, Tony. He stayed with the Hastings family to help them with statements, and fending off the press... They're all taking a couple of days to rest, then the family's flying back, and Tim's going to drive your car back to DC."

Gibbs found he'd tensed in anticipation of an outburst, and got ready to hold the injured man down again.

Tony leaned forwards. "McGee's going to drive my Princess?" Gibbs opened his mouth to say that it was better than leaving her in Kentucky, but the other man smiled beatifically. "Good..." he muttered, and burrowed his head into his pillow.

Gibbs' gast looked just about as flabbered as it was possible for a retired Gunnery Sergeant to be. Kath breathed on her nails and polished them. "Told you," she said.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS

McGee and the Mustang returned safely to DC two days later, the Princess less the worse for wear than her driver, who nevertheless insisted that he'd return to work as soon as he'd reunited Tony with his beloved. He found his friend at home, comfortable in light grey sweats that proved he had some colour to his face, right arm strapped up outside his top but still clearly too painful to move much, loading the dishwasher one-handed, and bursting with energy and frustration.

"Calm down, Tony... you want to load the stuff, not smash it."

"They won't let me go back! Ziva called by last night 'to make sure that you are behaving yourself, Tony'," he grumbled, in a perfect take off of Ziva's accent. "I've slept for two days solid! She said the paperwork, 'although satisfying', is threatening to bury them. I said I'd go in. She said Gibbs said no. There's nothing wrong with my brain!" He stiffened. "You needn't bother to reply, McSmartanswer-"

Tim grinned. "I thought you were going to say something else."

"You brought my motor back. Deserves a reduced level of insult. What are you doing?"

"Calling a taxi. My car's still at the Yard." He glanced at his watch. "It's 3 pm – I started out bright and early, told them I'd be in after I'd seen you. They can't object to a late afternoon visit. Don't change your clothes, and it'll look like you're not stopping. I'll protect you – come on."

He saw the corners of Tony's mouth twitch as he struggled to look insulted. He straightened up slowly, with more respect for his ribs than he wanted to give them, and kneed the dishwasher door shut. He looked Tim over carefully, studying the lines of weariness that still hadn't quite left his face.

"You all right? Really?"

"Oh yeah. You?"

"I will be." Pause. "You did good."

"You too." An unwary shrug from Tony in response, followed by a wince.

"Let's go, then."

"Lead on, McDuff..."

When Tim greeted Gibbs and Ziva, glad to be back, with the team off rotation while client1 continued to be unravelled, they both knew instantly that something was up. The air of innocence on the face of someone who couldn't dissemble to save his life put all their senses on alert, but neither of them could see any reason for it.

When Gibbs said "I'll be in Preeheck," McGee waited a few seconds before rising to his feet to follow him. After all, he'd said he'd protect Tony. He almost ran into Gibbs' back as he stood in the doorway.

"How the hell did you get here, DiNozzo?"

"In a taxi, Boss."

"Ha! With McGee, I suppose."

"Boss... I may, according to Ducky, not know my limitations – but I _can _do this." He indicated the pile of files beside him on the sofa. The first was already on his knee.

Jinny rose from her space-age desk and walked out round her desk, moving freely and hoping that was making a point. "I was working in here when I couldn't even stand up, Gibbs. And I'm really glad to have Tony's help."

Gibbs walked further into the room, and Tim _and_ Ziva trooped after him. Tony stood up, hair slightly tousled, almost boyish in his sweats, and smiled – a huge, genuine smile. "It's really good to be back, Boss." Tim and Ziva went to stand beside him, and the sight drew Gibbs in. The whole team, together again.

They all smiled, although nobody spoke, until finally, "Going for coffee," Gibbs said.

NCISNCISNCISNCIS Epilogue

Patch went to Arthur's funeral, out of a sense of duty, and was the only mourner. Maxwell Brock, the good man who'd unwillingly become bad, had three; Tony, Tim and Father Charlie Bingham. Charlie believed that he'd find forgiveness. The two agents simply felt sad for a ruined life.

Jinny's ambition was to get back into the field, (and although Ollie privately dreaded it, he'd fallen for a working detective, and already proved he could take whatever that brought,) so at first it was a bit of a blow when she was asked to transfer to the fraud squad and head up what was termed the Restitution Team. She pointed out that her rank wasn't high enough for her to have the clout for the job; they offered her promotion to Sergeant. She pointed out that she couldn't outrank her husband; well that was OK too, because Lieutenant Wigg was being promoted to Captain, Roy was being bumped to Lieutenant and taking over the team, with Ollie as his Sergeant. It had been in the pipeline, they said.

It was Ollie who reminded her that it was a temporary posting, and she'd be back in the field when it was over and she was really well again, and anyway, nobody knew as much about the case as she did, and who better was there to ensure that the innocent people who'd been cheated got as much justice as was possible?

Well, yes, she agreed, she could do that, and do it well... and on the first morning of the job she sat with her new team and told them it would likely take the best part of a year, but they'd get it right. And they did... they were doing so well at it that when, three months later, she walked down the aisle on her husband's arm, there were a few surprises.

She wore a full-length dress of sunshine yellow silk - "Well, not much point in virginal white, is there," she'd giggled to Ollie when she'd put it on. "I chose the colour because it's happy. I'm never going to be miserable again."

"If you ever are, you've still got me. You look wonderful, Hon..."

As they walked into the church, there were some faces amongst her friends that she hadn't expected to see.

Caroline Yorke had a new factory; Peter Wenham had a new canoe school; Vanessa Falconbridge had gone ahead and rebuilt her aviary anyway, and had been surprised to receive a cheque for compensation. She'd used it to help fund the hire of a first rate falconer. They were all there. And oh my... the surgeon from New York.

There were others too, whose faces weren't familiar, although she could see that Ollie recognised them; as she stood beside him to receive the blessing on their marriage, she _felt _blessed. Wow... yes... very blessed.

They took a picnic of lucullan proportions out to Holt Common; the Gibbswiggs, Fornell and his team, Polly, Patch and Lucy, a few other good friends – to be met by Treat Farrier. The former cop had declined Kath's offer to help him find work in security; he was now part of the team who were restoring the land to its former wilderness. As the sun went down, and they all sat out on the grass, full of good food, and talking softly, Farrier produced several pairs of night vision binoculars.

"There's a reason I wanted you to come to this spot," he said very quietly. "Look over there, under the tall bank with the hedgeline on top." He gave Jinny the glasses first, then passed the others out. Jinny caught her breath and whispered "Oh..."

"They're rare in this half of the continent," Farrier said . "That's why this site's so important. I never knew or cared before."

Those with the glasses watched entranced; Tony with his excellent long sight didn't need them anyway. He watched in silent delight as first one striped mask then another emerged from the hole at the foot of the bank, noses uplifted into the wind. The badgers had returned to Holt Common.

"They were always quite blasé about human smell," Treat whispered, "They've shared this space with us for a long time. It was diesel that they hated. That was the first thing we did; to rid the place of every trace of it."

"I'm so glad this place was saved," Jinny whispered thoughtfully. An impish grin spread across her face as she watched the badgers enjoying life. "It's prime real estate for them."

The groans were very quiet.

**AN: Done. Thanks, as always, for coming along for the ride, and for all the kind things you said.**


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